They Shook Hands : Year 2
by Dethryl
Summary: Harry Potter's holiday with the Muggles has been dreadful. He wants nothing more than to return to Hogwarts, but when he is rescued by a masked wizard in a black robe, it sets off a chain reaction of disasters. Things are no calmer at school as an ancient
1. The Long Quiet

**They Shook Hands : Year Two**

An alternate (but realistic!) universe Harry Potter fic  
by Dethryl

Harry Potter's holiday with the Muggles has been dreadful. He wants nothing more than to return to Hogwarts, but when he is rescued by a masked wizard in a black robe, it sets off a chain reaction of disasters. Things are no calmer at school as an ancient legend comes to life and a deadly monster stalks the halls. The new Defence professor boasts that he will end the threat, but can even the magical might of the famed Gilderoy Lockhart prevail against the Heir of Slytherin? Nobody knows who it could be, but the prime suspect is none other than Harry himself!

Don't read this story unless you've first read Year One.

**STOP AND READ THE AUTHOR'S NOTE!**

This story was begun in 2001, post-GOF. As such, it contains several anachronisms. Blaise Zabini is written as a blonde girl. Nott's first name is Tim. There is a new character named Jenna Moon. Please don't lose your shirt because it's not 100% canonesque. Now that the canon is complete, I have revised the story to take into account later details, including some things from Pottermore (don't worry, nothing spoilery!). Names were changed to protect the innocent: Tim to Theo, Jenna Moon to Daphne Greengrass, and Blaise Zabini to Tracy Davis. The black kid who doesn't get any screentime in canon until HBP is worked in by a particular fit of genius. It's as close as I can make it to canon without rewriting the entire series, and I'm not going to go that far. I am leaving this original version of the story posted for posterity.

**If you are new to this story, please read the Revision! You can find the link in my profile.**

**Chapter One - The Long Quiet**

It had been a month since Harry Potter had said goodbye to his friends at the train station. It had been a month since he'd had a friendly word from anyone. They'd all promised to write to him. Every day since returning to the place he nominally called home, he had waited for a letter from any of his friends. His days were filled with household chores, but he took time every night to stare up at the dark sky with a deep longing.

Stillness filled this night as the stars twinkled down from on high. He turned away from his window with a sigh, trying not to give in to despair. He was desperate for some word; Harry was horribly lonely. He had lived for ten years without friends. He'd learned to get along without them. Then Draco, Tim, Blaise, Millie, Pansy, Jenna, Crabbe, and Goyle had burst into his life like a meteor shower and changed it irrevocably. Now Harry missed them terribly. Not one letter-bearing owl had appeared in the sky since he'd returned to his so-called home. Were it not for his own owl, Regal, sitting in his cage, Harry would have sworn that the whole thing had been a fantastic dream.

For you see, Harry was no ordinary boy. He was a wizard and had attended Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry during the past year. He'd had adventures, excitement, danger, and loads of fun. Harry had grown to love the old castle, with its secret passageways and ghosts, the post arriving via owl at breakfast, and the sumptuous banquets held in the Great Hall. He enjoyed all of his classes (even Transfiguration with the mean old Deputy Headmistress, Professor McGonagall). Harry missed sleeping in his four-poster bed in the dungeon dormitory of Slytherin House and waking to the sunrise shining through the large window set into the cliff face. Most of all, he missed Quidditch, the wizarding world's most popular sport (the rules of which were both complicated and fascinating).

Harry missed Hogwarts so much that it hurt. There was a gnawing ache in his stomach most times that no food could cure. He couldn't even go through his wizarding things and remind himself, because all his worldly posessions had been locked up in the cupboard under the stairs that had been Harry's bedroom for ten years.

Despite his protests to the contrary, Harry had been shipped back to stay the summer holiday with his dead mother's sister and her husband, Petunia and Vernon Dursley, who treated him much like a dog that has rolled in something smelly. They had raised him, if such a term could be applied, since he was one year old, when his parents had been murdered by the most powerful Dark sorcerer of all time, Lord Voldemort, whose name many witches and wizards still feared to speak.

Voldemort had meant to murder Harry as well, but, inexplicably, the curse had rebounded back on Voldemort, and all his great powers had been destroyed. Harry had been left alone in the world, with only a thin scar shaped like a bolt of lightning on his forehead.

That scar marked Harry. He was absolutely famous throughout the wizarding world. Not, of course, that he'd known anything about it. He'd been stuck living with Muggles, what wizards called non-magic folk, for ten years. They had told him his parents had died in a car crash and that his scar was from that accident. Those ten years had been absolute torment for Harry, because he couldn't explain the way he made strange things happen without meaning to. He'd been treated like a freak. Were it not for his letter from Hogwarts, Harry was sure that he'd still be locked in the cupboard under the stairs.

When that letter had arrived, the whole story had come spilling out. Harry still felt a towering resentment towards the Muggles for what they'd done to him, but he'd be satisfied if he could just leave Number Four, Privet Drive and never come back.

Harry rested his elbows on the dresser and stared at his own reflection in the mirror. His jet-black hair was untidy, as it always was. He made some attempt to push it back, but it flopped forward again. Harry leaned forward, looking deep into his own brilliant green eyes.

"I've got to get out of here," he said to the quiet room, "or I shall go mad."

His clock made a single tone, and he looked over to see that the hour was just midnight.

"Happy birthday, Harry," he said to himself. Today was 31 July, Harry's twelfth birthday. Surely today some post would come for him. Surely his friends would not forget his birthday.

Harry went back to the window. He fought back a yawn, determined to stay awake as long as he could. A letter would come, he just knew it. That thought was the last he had as his head drooped further and further, finally coming to rest on his folded arms. He slept at the windowsill, undisturbed by any letter-bearing owls.

The next morning at breakfast, Harry did his best to ignore his relatives. He ate his one fried egg and single piece of toast quickly, for if he lingered, Dudley, his fat, obnoxious cousin, would steal it just for spite, and Harry would certainly not get more.

"Is that bacon ready yet, boy?" Uncle Vernon asked him in an unfriendly tone of voice.

Inwardly sighing, Harry swallowed his last bite and got to his feet. As he brought the frying pan to the table from the cooker, he was quick enough to snatch two pieces of bacon, which he shoved into his mouth, ignoring the sting of the hot grease. He'd learned to live with such minor discomforts if he wanted to sneak food.

Dudley emptied the pan, piling bacon on his plate. "Harry stole some bacon!" he shouted.

Harry jumped. "What?"

Uncle Vernon's face was growing red, the veins at his temples beginning to throb. "Dudley, what are you saying?"

"There's only six pieces here! He's got grease on his mouth!" Dudley howled. "He stole my bacon!"

"Boy!" Uncle Vernon cried, reaching for Harry's arm. Startled, the heavy frying pan slipped from his grasp, clattering to the floor and flinging hot grease everywhere. Dudley began to cry, and Aunt Petunia shrieked as she was burned.

Harry cracked his head on the door frame as Uncle Vernon flung him away. Dizzy and seeing stars, he stumbled out of the kitchen and towards his bedroom. Wistfully, he let one hand linger on the locked door of his old cupboard, wishing he could get at his things and just leave this awful place.

He was assisted into his room by Uncle Vernon, who came thundering up the stairs after him. "You are not to leave this room unless we have work for you to do!" the red-faced man bellowed at him. "And mark my words, there will be a lot!" He raised his meaty fist in the air and held the pose for a moment. Then, having made his point, he turned and slammed the door on his way out.

Harry's head was spinning, but his anger was burning. Tonight, he vowed, he would break the lock on the cupboard and take back his prized racing broom, his wand, and the invisibility cloak that had belonged to his father. All the rest of his possessions he could leave behind. The Dursleys could light them on fire for all he cared. He would leave and never look back. He didn't have to put up with this treatment. He shouldn't have to live in fear of a beating for just eating some bacon. Uncle Vernon hadn't hit him tonight, and in truth, he seldom did, but there was always the chance. There was always the question.

"Boy!" Vernon shouted through the door. "Get out here!"

Was he back already? Harry got to his feet and stumbled for the door. His head was throbbing, though the dizziness appeared to have passed. "What?" he asked, opening the door.

"Today is a very important day," Uncle Vernon began, and Harry couldn't help but perk up a bit. Could it be that they'd actually _remembered_ his birthday?

"This could be the day I make the biggest deal of my life," the big man continued. Harry's heart fell. He should have known better. The Dursleys didn't care about him at all. Why should they have remembered his birthday? Only something that concerned _them_ would be "important".

"The Masons will be here promptly at eight o'clock." Uncle Vernon had talked of little else besides the stupid dinner party he was having to woo some rich builder into buying a lot of drills from Grunnings, Uncle Vernon's company.

"You will have eaten beforehand and will be here in your room, making absolutely no noise, and pretending you don't exist. Got that?"

"I'll be sitting in my room, making no noise, and pretending I'm not here," Harry said dutifully. While not precisely what Uncle Vernon meant, every word Harry had said was true.

"Too right you will," Uncle Vernon said ominously. "The Masons don't know anything about you, and it's going to stay that way. If they _do_ find out about you, you won't eat for a week, I promise you that."

"Yes, sir," Harry said, tired of the fat man's threats. All he had to do was make it through tonight. What a wonderful birthday present to himself it would be to finally leave this odious place.

"I'm going into town to pick up the dinner jackets. Get your lazy self outside and wash the windows. Once you're done with that, mow the lawn. Your aunt will have more work for you if you're done before I get back. Move it!"

Harry took himself listlessly outside. As he retrieved the bucket, he thought about where he would go. By the time the first window was soaped, he'd determined to fly north. He'd find Hogsmeade Village somehow, get a message to- to- someone. He moved on to the next window.

Professor Snape! Head of Slytherin House, he'd always been good to Harry. If anyone could help, it would be Professor Snape. Hadn't he told the first year Slytherins that his door was always open to them?

Maybe he could break Regal out of his cage, send his letter, and then follow the owl on his broom. Regal was a smart owl; he would lead Harry right where he wanted to go. Harry mused on that for a bit as he finished up with the windows. Actually, he didn't need to plan much more. Professor Snape would know what he should do.

Harry hurried through mowing the lawn. With luck, he could have a few minutes to himself before he got put back to work. What a miserable birthday. No cards, no presents, and he would be spending the evening pretending to not even exist. He kicked irritably at the hedge, slumping on the garden bench.

Something shiny in the hedge caught his attention. He leaned closer, peering into the shadows. Maybe he'd be lucky and it would be some Muggle money and he could go get a sweet from the little shoppe on the corner.

"I know what day it is," came Dudley's jeering voice. Harry jumped, looking away from the hedge. If Dudley knew there might be money in there, he'd steal it in a second.

"What?" Harry asked, trying to remain calm.

"I said, 'I know what day it is,'" Dudley repeated, waddling right up to Harry.

"Congratulations," Harry said, clapping his hands mockingly. "You've finally learned the days of the week, have you?"

"You shut up," Dudley ordered him. "Today's your _birthday_," he sneered. "How come you haven't got any cards? Got no friends at that freak school either?"

"Better not let your mum catch you talking about my school," Harry replied coolly.

Dudley hitched up his trousers, which were slipping down his fat bottom. "Don't you have some work to do?" he asked nastily. "What are you doing to the hedge?"

"I'm about ready to set it on fire," Harry smirked. "Want to watch?"

Dudley stumbled backwards at once, a look of fear coming onto his face.

"You c-can't! Dad told you you're not to do that-that _stuff_. You'll be tossed out of the house." Dudley was stammering with panic.

_Tossed out of the house? Oh to dream_, Harry thought.

"Then where will you go? You've got nothing and nobody-"

"Umma gumma!" Harry said in a fierce voice, taking a step towards his cousin. "Abara kadabra! Presto chango!" Dudley ran for his life, howling for his mummy. Harry allowed himself a brief smile.

Harry paid dearly for his bit of fun, though. Despite the fact that neither Dudley nor the hedge was harmed in any way, Aunt Petunia still took a swipe at him with the soapy frying pan and put him to work.

"You'll not eat again until the flowerbeds have been weeded, the rose bushes pruned and watered, the garden bench painted, and the car washed. Hop to it," she snapped at him.

Dudley made it worse for Harry by lounging around in plain sight and eating ice cream. The sun burned brightly in the cloudless sky, and Harry could feel his skin cooking. He wasn't at all regretful for scaring Dudley like he had. In all likelihood, they would have made him do this work anyway.

Hours later, his back aching, his neck burning, and sweat running down his face, he was finally called in to eat his supper.

"Walk on the newspapers!" Aunt Petunia harped at him. Harry ground his teeth together, fiercely resisting the urge to stomp all over the sparkling floor. Washing his hands, he sat down at the table to eat the two slices of bread and small lump of cheese that had been laid out for him.

He could smell the pork roast sizzling in the oven. Tonight's pudding was up on top of the refrigerator, a huge mound of whipped cream and sugared violets. Trying not to let his mouth water _too_ much, Harry took a bite of the bread. This was a pathetic dinner, even compared to what he normally got to eat.

Aunt Petunia whisked his plate away before he even put his last bite in his mouth. Though he was already moving towards the stairs, she hurried him along, looking downright silly in the salmon-pink cocktail dress she wore. As he passed the door to the living room, Harry caught a glimpse of Uncle Vernon and Dudley in bow ties and dinner jackets looking even sillier. He had only just reached the upstairs landing when the doorbell rang and Uncle Vernon's furious face appeared at the foot of the stairs.

"That will be the Masons. Remember, boy, if I hear one sound out of you..." He trailed off, leaving the threat unspecified. Harry ignored him. He wouldn't be around to suffer whatever punishment was sure to be his anyway.

He stepped into his room and closed the door. Looking out into the evening sky, the first stars were just beginning to appear. Harry sat at the window. Surely a letter would come. He wasn't forgotten.

Perhaps an hour had gone by when Harry sighed deeply. No owl had appeared bearing a message from one of his friends. He sniffed back a tear.

Something down on the street was moving. Harry peered at it, certain it was more interesting than his room, whatever it was.

It was a person, he could see, wearing a hooded jacket. There was nothing particularly unusual about that, but then a breeze came by and caught at the person's clothing. He wasn't wearing a jacket at all! He was wearing a hooded black robe!

Harry's breath caught in his throat. A wizard! And he was coming up the front walk! Harry hardly dared to believe his eyes. The tall wizard knocked on the front door with a heavy fist. Harry ran out of his room and stood at the top of the stairs. Someone had come to rescue him, just like Hagrid had last year!

"Who the devil could that be at this time of night?" Uncle Vernon said in the kitchen. "Excuse me, please."

As he passed the stairs, he looked up and scowled at Harry. "Room!" he mouthed. Harry didn't move.

"Yes?" Uncle Vernon said, opening the door.

He gasped in horror and fell back instantly, very nearly tripping over his own feet. A tall figure stood in the doorway, arms folded across his chest imposingly. The wizard wore a long, black robe, just as Harry had seen through his window, and the hood was pulled up. Swathed in shadow, a blank white mask covered the stranger's face. The wizard ignored Uncle Vernon and looked up the stairs directly at Harry.

"Harry Potter, gather your things," came a hollow voice. "You are coming with me."

"See here," squeaked Uncle Vernon in a tone much removed from his normal voice. "You are not welcome here. I insist you leave at once! You can't just come barging into my home and take the boy away; I'll not have it."

The wizard dropped his face to stare at Uncle Vernon. "Silence, Muggle," he ordered. "Do not speak to me again." He looked back up at Harry in an expectant manner.

This wasn't one of his professors. Of that much, Harry was certain. The strange wizard wasn't tall enough to be any of the adults at Hogwarts (and too tall to be Professor Flitwick!). Of the wizards he knew, only his friends knew where he lived. This wizard was too tall to be any of his friends, but some of them had older siblings.

Harry ran into his room and grabbed Regal's cage. He hurried down the stairs, not caring that he was making more noise than Dudley. He snatched Uncle Vernon's keys out of the basket on the hall table and unlocked the cupboard.

"Vernon? What's going on out here? We have _guests_, remember?" demanded Aunt Petunia as she came out of the kitchen. The wizard glared in her direction. She shrieked in terror, rushing to her husband's side and latching onto his arm.

Harry dragged his school trunk to the door. In it were all his clothes, school books, and his broomstick. He had nothing else in the world. The wizard stepped aside, and Harry escaped out into the night.

Back in the house, he could hear Uncle Vernon blustering and protesting. Quite clearly, Harry's rescuer told the red-faced man, "Do not threaten me, Muggle."

The door slammed, and the unknown wizard was lifting one handle of Harry's heavy trunk. Harry said nothing. He didn't know who this wizard was or where he was being taken, but it would certainly be better than Number Four, Privet Drive.

As they turned the corner, his unexpected saviour chuckled. "Cat got your tongue, Harry?" The voice was still hollow, but now Harry could hear tones of amusement and a barely concealed laughter.

Harry turned his brain. There was only one person who the wizard could be.

"Elan?" he asked hesitantly.

The wizard threw back his hood and removed his white mask to reveal the smiling face of Elan Octavio Malfoy. "None other."

"Hullo, Harry!" came a voice from the hedge.

"Draco?" Harry said in astonishment. "What are you doing here?"

The blond-haired boy with a pointed chin stepped onto the walk. He too was wearing a hooded robe. "Rescuing you, of course," was his friend's cheeky answer. "Unless you'd rather stay."

Harry shook his head emphatically. "Absolutely not!" he exclaimed. He extended his hand, and Draco shook it firmly. "It's absolutely smashing to see you again, Draco. Your timing is perfect. How are we getting out of here?"

"On broom, naturally," Elan replied, taking his broom from his younger brother.

Harry opened his trunk and retrieved his prized Nimbus 2000. Elan was fiddling with something he'd taken from his pocket. He tapped Harry's trunk with it, and to Harry's amazement, it began to shrink. When it reached the size of a bar of chocolate, Elan picked it up and put it in his pocket.

"Ready to go?" he asked.

"More than ready," Harry agreed.

They kicked off into the night sky. No one saw the pair of eyes peering out through the dirty window of the house with the cracked and peeling paint.

The flight to Wiltshire passed without incident. The moon was hidden behind the clouds, and the three boys likewise hid above the cloud cover. The night air was chilly, and Harry wished he had dressed more warmly. When they set down on the grassy courtyard, Harry was shivering violently.

Elan had produced his strange device again and restored Harry's trunk. Harry dug into his belongings feverishly, pulling out his heavy cloak. Wrapping it tightly around his shoulders, he yearned to draw his wand and cast the Self-Warming Charm that Professor Snape taught to all first-year Slytherins.

"Leave the trunk," Elan said as Harry went to grab the handle. "The house elves will take care of it."

"What's a house elf?" Harry inquired.

"Servants," Draco answered. "They exist to serve wizarding families. They cook, clean, and carry."

"Do they earn a good living?" Harry asked. He knew what it was like to have to cook, clean, and carry for a family.

Draco laughed. "You've got to stop thinking like a Muggle," he said. "Elves are creatures of magic. Their whole reason for being is to serve. It makes them tremendously happy."

Harry had his doubts. "You're sure?"

"Positive," Elan said. "It breaks their little hearts when they can't do anything for you. Some of them will get tears in their eyes."

The flight had lasted only an hour, and Harry was wide awake, despite it being close to half ten o'clock. His eyes were bright as he took in all the sights. Out in the dim of the courtyard he could see the outline of statues and trees. The patio adjoining the courtyard was home to a burbling fountain, shaped like some giant snake.

"Leviathan," Elan told him, noting his interest. "A sea serpent or water dragon. According to the Bible, it's a creature of chaos and later becomes a symbol of evil which will be destroyed on Judgement Day."

"It's beautiful," Harry said, half-mesmerized.

"Of course the Bible is all wrong," Draco said. "It's hardly a myth. The leviathan was a very large beast, ruthless and fearless, that ruled over all the creatures of the sea. Its skin was like a double coat of mail, with huge overlapping scales all over its body. Swords and harpoons simply bounced off. It could breathe fire and had hundreds of teeth in its mouth. The fins could also radiate a brilliant light."

"You talk about it like it's extinct," Harry noted, still staring at the intricate statue.

"They are," Elan said. "The last known leviathan died in the year seventy-seven anno Domini."

That made Harry feel very sad for some reason. He was quiet as Elan picked up a lantern and led the way through the large double doors into a grand hallway. Portraits of witches and wizards decorated the walls, though not nearly as many as at Hogwarts. Harry saw pointed chins, pale complexions, grey eyes, and silver-blonde hair on many of the people. These could only be ancestors of the Malfoy Clan.

Other corridors branched off from the main hall, but Elan paid them no mind, heading up the polished wooden staircase in the foyer. At the top, he halted and gestured for Harry to look down. What he saw took his breath away.

The floor of the foyer had been done in a very tasteful grey marble. In the centre, crafted in a manner Harry couldn't even begin to speculate on, was the Malfoy family crest. The argent sickle moon was brilliant in the shaft of moonlight that beamed through the window to illuminate the crest. The bisecting sword, sable in colour, reflected the pale, cold light as well. The words of Malfoy stood out in seeming sharp relief: _In hoc signo vinces._

As Draco opened the first door on the left, he turned and clasped Harry's hand. "I'll show you all around the Manor tomorrow," he promised.

"Good night, Draco," Harry replied. "And thanks."

Draco grinned at him. "It was smashing good fun."

"Good night, Draco."

"Good night, Elan."

Harry followed Elan a few doors down the hall. "That's the master bedroom," Elan said in a low voice, pointing to the door at the end of the corridor. "Not to worry, they went to bed early. And this," he said, opening the door, "is my room."

It was a modest room, at least in terms of what Harry had seen of the Manor so far. A fire was burning cheerfully in the fireplace. A telescope rested on a tripod out on the balcony, a much nicer telescope than Harry's poor brass one. A walk-in closet took up half of one wall; the rest of the wall space was divided equally between tapestries, bookshelves, and Quidditch posters of the Appleby Arrows. One poster was not Quidditch-related; it featured a very pretty young witch not wearing very many clothes. Harry felt his ears burning and quickly looked away. Elan's desk was neat and tidy. There was a very nice writing set with two raven feather quills, a device that looked almost, but not quite, like a Muggle radio, and a picture of Blaise Zabini's older sister Jamie.

"Nice room," Harry said.

Elan chuckled. "It's cosy," he said depreciatingly. He guided Harry a bit further down the hall. "This is the guest room. One of them anyway," he said wryly. "You should be quite comfortable here." He opened the door and placed his hand on a metal bump on the wall. The candles in the room burst into flame.

Harry's trunk was already sitting at the foot of the grand bed. He looked around the room and saw bookshelves built into the walls. Candelabrum were spaced regularly between the shelves. No portraits hung here, for which Harry was thankful. Having strange paintings watching him would keep him awake all night.

"It's very nice," he said sincerely.

Elan nodded. "Well, see you in the morning. The candles will put themselves out if you just touch the metal circle on the bedside table there."

"Thank you, Elan. Good night."

"Good night, Harry."

Elan closed the door behind him, and Harry was alone. He took a few moments to admire the splendour of the room before he began pulling off the oversized shirt he was wearing. He'd worn Dudley's cast-offs back at Privet Drive because he didn't care to have the Dursleys know how well off he was. He chucked them in the corner vehemently. First thing in the morning, he'd make sure to burn every scrap of it.

He quickly pulled on the green cotton pyjamas that had been a Christmas gift from the Zabinis and the Bulstrodes, along with a dozen other boxes of clothes. He slid between the cool sheets and lay his head down on the pillow. Lacing his fingers together behind his head, he stared up at the patterns of shadow on the ceiling.

What a strange day, he reflected. Maybe the weird twist of fate that had brought him to Malfoy Manor lent some weight to the idea that someone was watching over him. Wondering what new events the morning would bring, Harry turned on his side, pulled the covers up to his ear, and slept.

Harry's dreams were disturbing, and he hadn't had a disturbing dream since leaving school. (Maybe it was because his reality was such a nightmare.) He was fighting against a smothering blackness; he couldn't breathe. He wanted to raise his wand and cast a light spell. He reached for it, but his hand was moving so very _slow_. He was shaking now, and he came half-awake to see Elan's concerned face. The older boy stopped shaking his shoulders.

"All right, Harry?" Elan said softly.

Harry drew his knees up to his chin. "Bad dream," he said just as softly.

"Yeah, I figured as much," Elan answered. "That's why I had Dobby watch over you."

"What's a Dobby?" Harry asked.

Elan snapped his fingers. A little creature with large, bat-like ears and bulging green eyes the size of tennis balls stepped over. It gazed up at Harry with an unreadable expression. The creature's nose was very long and thin. It was wearing an old pillowcase.

"That's Dobby. He's one of the house elves. I remembered that you sometimes have nightmares, so I told Dobby to watch you and to wake me if your sleep was troubled. It wouldn't do for you to wake up Father."

"He doesn't like being woken?" Harry said, turning back to Elan.

"Oh it's not that," Elan said airily. "He just doesn't know you're here yet. But that's what breakfast is for." Despite himself, Harry chuckled. Elan seemed to have Draco's same sense of not letting things bother him. "So can you go back to sleep now?" he asked.

Harry nodded. "Yeah, I'll be fine," he said, a bit too quickly.

Elan narrowed his gaze. "Are you sure? Maybe I should spend the night in here."

Harry flushed. "I don't want to be any trouble."

"Nonsense," Elan scoffed. "We prefects are used to dealing with ickle firsties."

"I'm not a firstie," Harry protested.

"You are until the new firsties arrive," Elan answered flippantly. "But since you're being so insistent on being brave, I suppose you can stay by yourself."

Harry nodded as Elan stood up and headed for the door. "Elan?" he asked.

"Yeah?" the blond young man asked, facing Harry from the doorway.

"Thanks for looking out for me," Harry said seriously. "And thanks for coming to get me. It means a lot."

"No trouble," Elan replied. "G'nite."

Harry was not long in falling asleep again, and his last thought before a now dreamless sleep claimed him was that his faith in his friends had been justified. They hadn't forgotten him. They had cared enough to come looking for him when they hadn't gotten any letters. They had cared enough to set a watch over him in case of bad dreams. "'Or perhaps in Slytherin, you'll make your real friends,'" he mumbled. Then he was asleep.

to be continued...


	2. Malfoy Manor

**They Shook Hands : Year Two**

An alternate (but realistic!) universe Harry Potter fic  
by Dethryl

**Chapter Two - Malfoy Manor**

Harry awoke as the sunlight beamed through the open window, illuminating the whole guest room. It reminded him a lot of mornings in the Slytherin dungeons. If one didn't have the green velvet curtains drawn around the four poster bed, the sun would shine on your face as it rose over the lake, just as the sun was doing to Harry now. He yawned and stretched. The bed was so very _comfy_, he thought sleepily.

And he could _stay_ in bed. Harry reveled in the thought. He didn't have to get out of bed unless _he_ wanted to. There were no Dursleys to pound on his door and insist that he get up to cook breakfast. Maybe he could even have breakfast in bed. Rich people did that, he knew, and the Malfoys were certainly rich. In the wizarding world, he was rich too. Perhaps that Dobby creature would bring up a tray. Elan had told him that house elves were servants.

Despite the early morning light, Harry dozed off again. The sun rose higher in the sky, and the birds began to chirp outside, boasting about their eggs, glorifying in the clear skies. When Draco shook him awake again, he yawned wide enough to drive a lorry through.

"Good morning, Harry," Draco said cheerfully.

"Morning," he replied thickly. His mouth felt icky. He needed to brush his teeth.

"Did you sleep well?" Draco went to the window and opened it even further. The morning breeze rustled the draperies, carrying the scent of wild grass.

"More or less," Harry replied, yawning again.

"Weather looks to be nice today," Draco noted. "We should have some good flying for the Quidditch game."

"Quidditch?" Harry perked up. He loved playing Quidditch. He threw back the covers and got to his feet.

Draco nodded. "There's a full pitch out back. We'll make a fire call to the others after breakfast. I know they're all going to be relieved to know you're okay."

Harry nodded as well. "I can't wait to see everyone. I've missed them." He frowned. "I don't understand why no one has sent me any letters. Not even a birthday card."

"Oi, did I wish you happy birthday yesterday?" Draco asked.

Harry's brow wrinkled as he thought about it. "I don't remember."

"Well happy birthday, Harry," Draco wished him. He frowned as well. "But that is strange that you didn't get my card. I sent it first thing in the morning."

"It's a mystery," Harry agreed.

"Indeed. So, ready to go down for breakfast?"

"In a minute," Harry said, rummaging in his trunk and pulling out his toothbrush and some clothes. Draco showed him to the water closet, and after a few minutes, Harry felt much more human.

"Food," he said, listening to his rumbling stomach.

Draco laughed. "You sound like Goyle."

"Goyle's a smart person," Harry said.

Draco laughed even harder. He led the way down the stairs, across the foyer, into the east wing of the manor, and finally into the dining room. By day, the manor seemed open and airy. The walls were of a finely carved wood and radiated an inner warmth.

Elan joined them a few minutes later as several house elves began carrying in trays of hot food. Harry dug in deeply after watching Draco and Elan pile their own plates.

"Sleep well, Harry?" Elan inquired around a mouthful of toast.

Harry nodded. "You?"

"Very well, thank you." Elan offered Harry the platter of bacon.

"Quidditch?" Draco asked his older brother.

"I suppose I could have a pass or two," Elan considered. "But you know I much prefer to watch Quidditch."

"Last time you supposedly watched us play, you were snogging with Jamie," Draco teased.

Elan took a sip of orange juice. "You and Blaise could play the same game if you wanted to," he threw back. "It would be almost the same thing."

"Eew," Draco said, fake-shuddering.

"Good morning, boys," came a pleasant, urbane voice from the doorway.

"Morning, Father," Elan and Draco chorused.

Lucius Malfoy sat down at the head of the table. He was wearing a button-up silver shirt and black trousers under an open wizard's robe, also black. He reached for the eggs and met Harry's eyes.

"I say," he said, "you're not one of mine." He smiled then. "Good morning, Harry. I trust you slept well?"

"Yes, sir," Harry said. Mr. Malfoy didn't seem to be very fazed, which in itself surprised Harry.

"I suppose my sons snuck out last night and took a trip to Surrey, did they?" he asked, buttering some toast.

Draco didn't answer, as his mouth was currently full, but Elan nodded. "Neither Draco nor I had gotten a letter from Harry all summer, Father. We feared the Muggles might be mistreating him."

Mr. Malfoy's lip curled. "Don't mention Muggles at the table, Elan."

"Sorry."

"Well, you're certainly welcome here, Harry," Mr. Malfoy said. "My home is yours."

"Thank you, sir," Harry said. "I'm glad to be here."

Two owls soared into the dining room at that moment, dropping copies of the _Daily Prophet_ on the table, one in front of Harry, and the other in front of Mr. Malfoy. Harry shoved his to one side and continued eating his breakfast. He was having bacon _and_ sausage.

Abruptly, Mr. Malfoy slammed his hands flat on the table. He rose to his feet, staring down at the newspaper. Then his head snapped up, and his grey eyes were cold as he glared at his sons.

"You _idiots_," he hissed at them.

"Father?" Draco asked, startled.

"_What_, in Merlin's name, _possessed_ you to pull such a stupid, ill-conceived stunt as that?" Mr. Malfoy shouted.

Elan opened Harry's copy of the paper. Harry caught a glimpse of the headline: Death Eaters Abduct Harry Potter! Elan paled considerably and gulped.

"Black robes? White masks? Were you _trying_ to get yourselves sent to Azkaban?" Mr. Malfoy's face was twisted in a snarl. "Did you have a sudden urge to go visit your aunt?"

"I am _not_ like Aunt Bella!" Elan said hotly.

"We- we-" Draco was fumbling, the first time Harry had ever seen him without the right words to say.

"Your little stunt was certainly insane enough for her to have thought it up," Mr. Malfoy sneered. "Reckless, thoughtless, and downright foolhardy! I thought I raised you better than that!"

"If we had merely knocked at the door, those Muggles wouldn't have taken us seriously, Father," Elan said in forced civil tones. "You saw them at the station. And _they_ also saw _us_ at the station. They know I'm a student. They would know I couldn't use magic during the holiday. I had to frighten them. I had to make them fear us."

"Oh that part was certainly achieved," Mr. Malfoy sneered. "I've no doubt the worthless Muggle soiled himself. You miserable fool, are you really so empty-headed that you think Albus Dumbledore would not have eyes watching over Harry Potter at all times? I've been making inquiries with the various offices of the Ministry, trying to get Harry removed, but those Muggles are his legal guardians, even in our world." Mr. Malfoy had clenched his fists now. His right hand was very close to his wand, and Harry could see his fingers twitching. "I am absolutely disgusted! There are right and wrong ways to go about this, Elan, and you most definitely chose the stupid way! It's a high crime to have been a Death Eater. Do you have any idea of the danger you've put this family in? How could you be so completely brainless?"

"Father, we-"

"Silence, Elan!" Mr. Malfoy snapped. "You're the eldest. You're supposed to have some form of grey matter between your ears. Instead I discover that your head is filled with marmalade! Little did I realize that when you lost your heart, you lost your head as well!"

Elan turned bright red. His mouth was partly open, but no words were coming out.

Mr. Malfoy looked nearly as angry as Uncle Vernon sometimes did. His face hadn't gotten red, but he was very pale. His lips were bloodless from being pressed together. "You are both in more trouble than you have _any_ conception of. Rooms! Now! Move!"

Draco and Elan ran out of the room as fast as possible. Mr. Malfoy took a deep breath and unclenched his hands.

"Now of course I don't blame you, Harry," he said in a strained voice. He took another deep breath. "It's not your fault that my sons are completely blithering idiots. Feel free to roam anywhere in the manor. I'd show you around myself, but I have some damage control to see to. Please excuse me."

When Mr. Malfoy left the room, Harry didn't quite know what to do. Everything had happened so fast that his head was spinning. He picked up his copy of the paper and began to read:

****

DEATH EATERS ABDUCT HARRY POTTER

Little Whinging, Surrey: Two black-robed, white-masked wizards broke into the home of Harry Potter's legal guardians and abducted him last night, according to an anonymous source. The wizards, unindentified as of press time, were last seen flying southwest from Surrey with Potter in their custody. A spokesman for the Ministry of Magic would not comment, and no further information is available.

The article gave more questions than it answered. What were Death Eaters? The name sounded horrible, but it was familiar to Harry. It was one of the Slytherin rules, he remembered. "'Slytherin does not mean junior Death Eater,'" he said to himself. "But what _is_ a Death Eater?"

Regardless of what it was, the story was absolutely untrue. He hadn't been abducted; he'd been rescued. He'd gone willingly. Mr. Malfoy knew it was completely untrue as well. That must have been what he meant by damage control. Obviously being a Death Eater wasn't a good thing.

There had to be some way he could help set things right. Harry resumed eating his breakfast, doing what Goyle would have done in his place. He wouldn't get anything accomplished on an empty stomach. And the food _was_ good. He drank the last of his milk and left the dining room. Exploring on his own didn't sound like much fun. He'd rather spend some time catching up with his friends. Harry made his way upstairs and knocked on Draco's door.

"Draco?" he called. "Can I come in?"

His best friend opened the door. "Hello, Harry."

Harry stepped inside. The room was very similar to Elan's bedroom, with bookshelves, tapestries, and posters adorning the walls. Draco's posters were of the Montrose Magpies rather than the Appleby Arrows. Draco threw himself on his bed.

"Sorry about breakfast," he said. "That was fairly ugly, and you shouldn't have had to see it."

"What was it all about?" Harry asked. He gave his friend a direct look. "House rule seven says that Slytherin doesn't mean junior Death Eater. What's a Death Eater?"

Draco didn't answer immediately. "Death Eaters are what You-Know-Who's followers were called," he finally said. "And ashamed as I am to say it, you deserve to know that my father used to be one of them."

Harry felt his world stagger a bit. "What?" he exclaimed in a stunned voice.

Draco wouldn't look at him. "It's true," he said quietly. "When he was younger, my father joined the ranks of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. He agreed with a lot of the things You-Know-Who was saying. Muggles and Muggleborns are inferior, purity of blood is supreme, and all that. At first it was alright, but then things started to change."

"The deeper he got into the Dark magic, the more it ate away at his mind," Elan said from the doorway. "He started abusing his own followers, casting horrible curses on them and so on. By the time You-Know-Who actually killed one of his Death Eaters, Father knew he'd made a terrible mistake."

"If Father finds you not in your room, there'll be hell to pay," Draco warned his older brother.

Elan shrugged. "I'm in about as much hot water as it's possible to be in," he said. "Besides, Harry deserves to know what's going on.

"By that time, of course, it was too late," he continued. "One did not just quit the service of the most powerful Dark wizard the modern world has ever seen. Disloyalty was rewarded with death."

Harry couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Those evil wizards killed my family," he sputtered. "Now you tell me that your father was one of the gang?"

"No!" Elan exclaimed, grabbing hold of Harry's arm. He leaned in close. "Harry, listen to me. The night V-Voldemort went after you and your parents, he was alone. None of the Death Eaters were with him. They played no part in your parents' deaths."

Harry didn't listen and jerked his arm away. "And you pretended to be my friends?"

Elan narrowed his eyes. "We _are_ your friends, Harry. If we were like You-Know-Who and wanted you dead, don't you think we'd have killed you long before now? Father made a mistake. He's not perfect. He can hardly be held accountable because You-Know-Who went insane. That part of his life is over. Didn't you hear him at breakfast? He said that his home is yours. Is that what you say to someone you want to kill?"

Harry felt his anger faltering. "I- I don't know."

"Search your feelings, Harry. You know what I'm saying is true. Father told me very specifically last Christmas that he is grateful to you for freeing him from his servitude. He wouldn't wish You-Know-Who back for anything."

Harry sat down in the chair with a thump. Everything was happening so fast. It was too much to take in all at once. He looked up and saw Elan's face full of sincerity. He looked over and saw Draco looking away, too ashamed of the secret he'd told to even face in Harry's direction.

With his knees shaking, Harry got to his feet and stepped towards the door. "I need some air," he croaked, as he hurried from the room.

In the corridor, he leaned aginst the wall. He took a deep breath. He started walking. Wandering the manor gave Harry plenty of time to think. Round and round in his head he kept hearing the conversation over and over again. But he couldn't settle it one way or the other. Had he really gone along willingly with Death Eaters? He decided he would have to talk directly to Lucius Malfoy.

Harry ducked into the guest room where he'd spent the night and got his wand out of the trunk. He wasn't supposed to use magic during the holiday, but for some reason he wanted the comforting feel of the wand sheath on his belt. Harry felt much better just holding this symbol of wizardry. The holly wood felt warm to the touch.

He went downstairs back into the dining room. Mrs. Malfoy was just sitting down at the table, and she looked as though she'd been crying. "Good morning, Harry," she said in a voice so cheery that Harry knew it had to be fake.

"Good morning, ma'am," he replied. "I was looking for Mister Malfoy."

"He should be in his office," she said. "He's probably making a fire call to the solicitor. I'm afraid the boys really twisted things up this time." She bit back a sniffle.

"I don't really understand what's going on, but the newspaper article is all wrong," Harry told her. "I just need to get the truth out. Nobody abducted me. All I really need to do is make a public statement denying the article, and it should all blow over. You all seem to know a lot of people. Do you know any reporters?"

Mrs. Malfoy nodded slowly. "As it happens, we do. That might just do the trick," she said, sounding a bit more hopeful. "Come, let's go find Lucius."

Harry followed her up to the second floor and down the corridor. In the place he reckoned was directly above the master bedroom on the first floor, she stopped. The door to the office was closed, but Mrs. Malfoy just walked right in. Harry trailed behind her. Lucius Malfoy was sitting at his desk with his head in his hands, muttering to himself.

"Lucius, Harry would like to talk to you. He has an idea you should listen to. It might just keep the boys out of Azkaban," she said, her voice breaking. She turned and left, closing the door behind her.

Mr. Malfoy looked up at Harry and put a forced smile on his face. "Yes, Harry? What is your idea?"

Harry drew up all his courage and looked the older man full in the eye. "Were you there the night my parents were murdered?" he asked coldly, cutting right to the heart of the matter.

Mr. Malfoy's eyes widened in astonishment, then narrowed in displeasure. Then they relaxed, and he leaned back in his chair. "Those boys need to learn to keep their mouths shut," he muttered. He took a sip from the glass of water on his desk.

"No, Harry. I give you my word, as both a Slytherin and a Malfoy, that I was not in Godric's Hollow on the night your parents were murdered," he said seriously. "The Dark Lord told us only that he had personal business to attend to and that he would summon us later that night. We never saw him alive again."

Mr. Malfoy rose to his feet and looked out over the courtyard. "I have many regrets about that period in my life," he said. "There are many times when I've wished that I had been stronger, that I'd had the courage to stand up against him. If just my own life had been at stake, I probably would have," he sighed, taking another drink. "But I had a wife and son to think about. Given the choice between killing Mudbloods and Muggles and losing my own family, it was really no choice at all. And then Draco was born, and I had even more reason to fear."

He turned around and looked at Harry. "But you freed me from that life, Harry. No one knows why Voldemort's powers were undone that night. But they were. And ever since, those of us who made the mistake of accepting his mark have been able to live without fear. Thank you. Know that I am forever in your debt."

Harry let the last of his anger evaporate. When he had defeated Voldemort, he had done more than what he was credited with and revered for by the whole of the wizarding world. He had also lifted the yoke of fear and terror from those who had no way out. Elan was right: They would never want to kill him.

"I think I know a way we can settle this situation," Harry said, changing the subject.

Mr. Malfoy's eyebrows lifted. "Oh? Well, let's hear it then."

"Missus Malfoy says you know a reporter?" Harry asked. "What if I just make a public statement to the effect that nobody kidnapped me, and there were no Death Eaters?"

The older man smiled genuinely. "Now why didn't I think of that?" he asked rhetorically. "As a matter of fact, I _do_ know a reporter or two. But I think we can do better than a simple statement. How would you feel about a full-fledged interview?"

Harry thought about it. The idea of a full interview made him sort of nervous. "I won't answer any questions I don't want to."

Mr. Malfoy chuckled. "I'll make sure she doesn't ask any uncomfortable questions," he promised. "If you'll excuse me? I need to make a fireplace call."

Whatever that was, Harry thought it a mighty peculiar turn of phrase. He walked out of the office and turned back just in time to see Mr. Malfoy throw a handful of powder into the fireplace and stick his head into the flames before the door closed. His eyes wide, Harry shook his head and reflected that there was a lot he still didn't understand about the wizarding world.

Harry wandered down to the second floor to inform Draco and Elan of the new developments. He found them both still in Draco's room, and they were glad to see him again.

"Hullo," Elan said as he let Harry into the room. "I take it this means you've decided we don't want to murder you in your sleep."

Elan's attempt at a joke made Harry grin. "I think you're the type who would challenge me to a duel if you wanted to do me harm," he rejoindered.

He explained his idea and was gratified to see expressions of relief on both their faces. "That's truly inspired," Draco told him. "And Father should calm down quite a bit if it goes well."

"Are we going to get in touch with Tim and Blaise and the others?" Harry asked after a few moments of silence.

"No, I think I'd better stay right here in my room," Draco answered. "And Quidditch is probably out for today too.

"Draco's right," Elan said. "When Father's got his temper up, it's better to fly straight. But don't let us keep you from getting outside. If you want to go flying, that's no problem at all."

Not being able to play Quidditch was a bit of a disappointment, but there was always tomorrow. With his friends incarcerated, Harry had to make do with his own devices. First and foremost, he had to send off letters to his friends assuring them that he wasn't kidnapped. The morning paper was sure to cause them to worry. He sat down at the desk in his room and wrote out a long, personal letter to each of them. He had just finished up when there was a knock on his door. "Come in," he called.

"Harry, your idea was brilliant," Mr. Malfoy said by way of greeting. "My friend at the Daily Prophet is on her way over. She's _most_ excited to be the one to talk with you." A bell chimed. "I do believe that will be her now," he smiled.

Mr. Malfoy led Harry down to the front entrance of the manor. He clapped his hands, and the wide, double doors swung open. On the front step was a blonde, curly-haired witch. She had a bit of a heavy jaw, but her jeweled spectacles drew attention away from that and emphasized her large blue eyes. Her fingers were thick and clutched a black leather handbag, but her nails were long and painted a brilliant pink.

"Harry Potter, meet Rita Skeeter."

to be continued...


	3. Rita Skeeter

**They Shook Hands : Year Two**

An alternate (but realistic!) universe Harry Potter fic  
by Dethryl

**Chapter Three - Rita Skeeter**

"Harry Potter, meet Rita Skeeter."

The blonde witch smiled a brilliant smile at him and gave a slight bow. "Mister Potter, I am so very honoured to meet you," she said in a pleasant voice.

"How do you do?" Harry asked politely.

Mr. Malfoy looked very pleased. "Shall we ajourn to the sitting room?" he suggested. "We might as well be comfortable."

The sitting room was adjacent to the foyer, and Harry tried not to gawk at the expensive furnishings. He sat himself down in a leather chair and studied the reporter.

She claimed a seat on the leather sofa and began pulling things from her handbag. A sheaf of parchment was first, followed by a bottle of ink, a quill pen, and a board attached to a pillow. She set the board on her lap, laid a piece of parchment on it, and readied her quill.

"Mister Potter, were you kidnapped on the night of 31 July?" she began.

"No," Harry said firmly. "I was not kidnapped."

"You left your home of your own free will?" she pressed.

"Yes."

"Were you in the company of Death Eaters?"

"Absolutely not. I left willingly with my friends Elan and Draco Malfoy." Harry gave Miss Skeeter a half-smile. "If Death Eaters _had_ shown up at my house, do you honestly think I'd still be alive?"

Miss Skeeter smiled back at him, as if they were sharing a secret. "No, I suppose not. Mister Potter, why did you leave your home?"

Harry thought very carefully about how much he wanted to say and how he wanted to say it. "Why did I leave Privet Drive? How would you feel if you'd grown up not knowing about the wizarding world?" he asked her softly. "If you made strange things happen and couldn't explain them? If the Muggles you lived with hated and feared you? If they tried to stamp the very magic out of you? Would you voluntarily stay there if you had any chance to leave?"

The reporter shook her head. "No, I suppose not."

"Even if Death Eaters had shown up on my door, I still would have gone with them. It was better than staying with the Dursleys. I hate them," Harry said. "I never want to see those Muggles again for as long as I live."

Miss Skeeter was scribbling furiously, trying to get it all down. She had to get another piece of parchment, and she tapped the quill against her lower lip, evidently thinking carefully about her next question.

"Tell me about your escape," she prompted.

"There's not much to tell, really," Harry shrugged. "The Muggles had guests over for dinner, so I was told to stay in my bedroom, make absolutely no noise, and pretend that I didn't exist."

"You didn't get dinner?" Miss Skeeter interrupted him.

"Not what the Muggles were eating, no," Harry said. "They were having a roast, and I was given some bread and cheese."

"Bastards!" Mr. Malfoy burst out. His hand was rapidly clenching and unclenching. He looked very upset. Even Miss Skeeter seemed a bit shocked at this revelation.

"Interesting," she murmured. She looked at Mr. Malfoy. "Lucius, how far do you want me to push this? This could be very damaging to Dumbledore."

Mr. Malfoy smiled beatifically. "Yes, it could, couldn't it? You'll have to ask Harry. I told him that he wouldn't have to answer any question he didn't want to."

Miss Skeeter looked back at Harry. "Was that a typical situation, Harry?" she asked gently.

Harry kept his lips sealed. He didn't want to answer that question. Miss Skeeter waited a few seconds for him to respond, and when he didn't, she softly asked him, "What happened next, Harry?"

"I'd been up in my room for about an hour when I saw a wizard out on the front walk," Harry continued. "I knew it was a wizard because the wind caught his robe and made it flap around a bit."

"Was it a black robe?"

"Is wearing a black robe a crime now?" Harry snapped.

Miss Skeeter shook her head. "No, most definitely not," she replied. "And I'll make a point of that. But was this wizard wearing a black robe?"

"Well, yes," Harry said sheepishly. He shouldn't have gotten upset. Miss Skeeter was only trying to help. "He knocked on the front door, and I went to the top of the stairs to see what was going to happen. Uncle Vernon came out of the kitchen and ordered me back to my room. Of course I ignored him. When he opened the door and saw Elan standing there, he got very frightened indeed."

"I see," Miss Skeeter said. "What about the supposed white mask?" she asked him. "That's very important. The whole allegation of Death Eater hinges on it."

Harry glanced at Mr. Malfoy, whose lips were pursed speculatively. "No, he wasn't wearing a white mask," he lied. "His hood was pulled low over his face, but I recognized his voice."

Miss Skeeter made a flourish with her quill and started on a new sheet of parchment. "Now then, did Elan threaten Mister Dursley in any way?"

"No," Harry told her. "He didn't say anything to Uncle Vernon. He just looked up at me and told me to get my things because I was leaving. Uncle Vernon told Elan that he couldn't just come in and take me. First of all, Elan never came into the house." He gave Miss Skeeter a pointed look. "Secondly, a Death Eater wouldn't have told me to get my things. Then Elan just told Uncle Vernon not to talk to him. The only other thing he said was when he told Uncle Vernon not to threaten him."

"Dursley threatened Elan?" Miss Skeeter perked up a bit. "Interesting. What happened then?"

"There's not much more to it, really. We walked down the block, met up with Draco, got on our brooms, and left the village."

"I'm proud of my sons," Mr. Malfoy interjected. "They helped a fellow wizard in need. It is deplorable that a child should be left to rot in such conditions."

Miss Skeeter nodded in agreement. "Well, that appears to cover the facts of the matter." She gave Harry a piercing look. "Is there anything else you would like to tell me, Mister Potter?"

Harry shook his head. He was wondering if perhaps he'd said too much about Privet Drive. He didn't want to remember that place. If he had anything to say about it, he'd never see it again.

"Very good, then," Miss Skeeter said brightly. "The article will be in tomorrow's edition."

"Excellent, Rita. You have my gratitude," Mr. Malfoy said.

Miss Skeeter smirked at him. "I'll think of some way you can pay me back," she laughed. "But would you like to know where the kidnapping report came from?"

Mr. Malfoy's eyes lit up. "Most assuredly," he breathed.

She smirked even wider. "Then make sure to read tomorrow's edition."

Mr. Malfoy laughed at having been taken in. "Ah, Rita," he chuckled. "You never change, do you?"

"Not if I can help it," she said, joining in his laughter. "This interview here is going to do wonders for me at the paper. Do you know how many journalists are going to be frothing at the mouth when they hear that I got a live interview with the Boy-Who-Lived?"

"I'm glad to see that everyone wins," Mr. Malfoy said. He was about to speak again, but was interrupted by the bell. "Who could that be? I wasn't expecting anyone."

"That would be my photographer," Miss Skeeter said brightly. "I thought it would be helpful to run a picture of Harry with the article. It lends credibility."

"Something you always need to worry about, Rita," Mr. Malfoy said dryly. "It's not Bozo is it? You know I won't have him in the house. That camera of his lets off more smoke than a Pepper-Up Potion."

Miss Skeeter made a face at him. "No, I called on Rebecca Jade. You won't have to worry about any of your precious antiques getting damaged by smoke." She got up to answer the door.

"Lucius, Harry, this is Miss Jade."

Rebecca Jade was a short witch who barely looked old enough to have left school. She was smartly dressed in deep blue robes and had drawn her brown hair back in a short ponytail. She looked very star-struck when she caught sight of the scar on Harry's forehead.

"Rebecca? Rebecca!" Miss Skeeter snapped. "Pay attention."

The photographer shook herself slightly and began taking her camera out of the heavily padded bag she had slung over one shoulder. It was a clunky-looking affair, not nearly as advanced as the camera his cousin Dudley had received for his birthday. Harry sneered at himself. Stop thinking about the Muggles, he thought. If he was so envious of Dudley's camera, he was well-off enough to go buy one for himself.

"Miss Skeeter, you wanted just a photo of Mister Potter?" Rebecca asked Miss Skeeter in a business-like voice. "No, I think we should have him together with Mister Malfoy. Stand up, the both of you," she ordered. Her tone was a bit cavalier, but this was her profession. She most likely knew what she was doing. Harry stood up.

"Now then, Mister Malfoy, stand a little closer to Mister Potter. Slightly behind him, a little closer. Good. Still something missing though," Rebecca trailed off, looking puzzled. "Ah! Yes, Mister Malfoy put your hand on his shoulder. Perfect!"

The camera made a bright flash, and Harry blinked for a few seconds at the blinding light. Then the white spots were fading, and he could see normally again.

"Thank you, Rebecca, that will be all. I'll see you back at the office." Miss Skeeter waved her hand, dismissing the photographer. "Have that developed by the time I get there."

Rebecca Jade nodded as she packed away her camera. She waved her goodbye as she hurried out the door. Mr. Malfoy watched the young woman leave. "She's a bit pushy, isn't she?"

Miss Skeeter nodded. "She takes excellent photographs though. I hear Witch Weekly is trying to lure her away from us. Chances are good they'll probably get her too. Our loss at the Prophet."

"It's been lovely seeing you again, Rita. Can you stay for luncheon?" Mr. Malfoy straightened a nicknack on the end table.

"I'd love to, Lucius, but I need to write this article. Give Cissa a kiss for me, would you?" Miss Skeeter was gathering up her things and replacing them in the handbag that was far too small to logically contain it all.

"I will," Mr. Malfoy promised. He walked her to the front door. "Don't splinch yourself."

"Never," she assured him. "Mister Potter, it was an honour to meet you. I hope you'll call on me if you ever need a friend in journalism."

Harry shook her hand. "Thank you for your help, Miss Skeeter."

She smiled at him. "Call me Rita." With a sudden popping noise, she disappeared!

"Wow, what was that?" Harry exclaimed.

"Apparition," Mr. Malfoy said, going back into the sitting room and collapsing into a chair. "A bending of time and space to move from one point to another." He poured himself a glass of brown-coloured liquid from a crystal decanter and took a large swallow.

"Brandy," he explained. "For the nerves."

"I'm sorry this has been such an ugly situation," Harry told the older man.

Mr. Malfoy waved a hand. "It's not your fault, Harry. I told you that. And it's over now. Rita will take care of everything. I have every faith in her."

"How do you know her?" Harry asked curiously. "You seem like you're old friends."

"She was three years ahead of me in school," Mr. Malfoy answered him. "Though you couldn't tell by looking at her, and she'd never admit it. She was a prefect, a top student, and we were good friends up to the time she left school. We didn't see each other much after that, and she got herself into the reporting business. We renewed our friendship after I finished school, but we still don't see each other that often."

"She seems nice," Harry said.

"Appearances can be deceiving. She can be nice to her friends, but if she decides to skewer you with her quill, Merlin's ghost help you." Mr. Malfoy said. "Well, I'd best get back to my study and start on my paperwork. You and Draco can invite your friends over if you wish. He's no longer confined to his room."

"Thank you, sir," Harry said. "What about Elan?"

"Elan is still in a great deal of trouble," Mr. Malfoy said, frowning. "Regardless of how things have turned out, he was still extremely thoughtless. He is grounded for the near future. And you can tell him that too."

"Yes, sir," Harry said again, and he left the sitting room.

It was a beautiful Saturday outside, and Draco and Harry intended to waste no time in getting out into the fresh air. Elan hadn't reacted too well to the news that Draco was no longer grounded, but he grudgingly took the greater part of the responsibility for the mess that Harry's rescue had caused. He stayed in his room, writing a letter, while Harry and Draco made fireplace calls to their friends.

The experience of sticking his head into a roaring fireplace was definitely one that Harry didn't care to try just now. He insisted that Draco do it the first time. When the blond-haired boy nonchalantly tossed a pinch of what he called Floo powder, a grey, glittering, greasy substance, into the fire, it turned emerald green, and Draco knelt down and spoke into the flames.

"Villa Zabini," he said, and stuck his head into the fire. "Good morning, Jamie," Harry heard him say. "Is Blaise around anywhere?" There was a short pause. "Blaise, good news! Harry's here with us at the Manor. No, the paper was lying. I don't _know_ where that report came from; Father's looking into it. Look, if you want to come over, you can discuss it with him. Very good, I'll see you soon."

As Draco removed his head from the fire, Harry noticed that he had a light dusting of soot and ash all over. "You're looking a little grubby," he observed slyly.

Draco looked down at himself. "Bother," he said. "Worst part about Floo, I say. You'd think they could clean it up a bit. Anyway, Blaise is going to tell her parents where she's going and should be here-"

"Harry!" Blaise shrieked as she tumbled out of the fireplace. Harry opened his arms to hug his friend but was instead tackled. He staggered, trying not to fall down. He was blinded by Blaise's mane of blonde hair. His ribs groaned as she squeezed him around the middle.

"Let off him, Blaise," Draco laughed. "You just found out that he's alive and well. Don't send him to hospital."

Blaise blew Draco a raspberry. "Harry, when we saw the paper this morning, we flipped."

"You should've seen Father's reaction," Draco muttered. "Look, before we start explaining, maybe we should get the others here?"

Blaise pouted, but Draco could not be swayed. "There's no need for Harry to have to repeat himself a bunch of times."

So Draco made fireplace calls to the Bulstrode Estate, Castle Nott, Parkinson Manor, Moonlight Meadows (Jenna's home), Pike Hollow (Crabbe's home), and Château des Gargouilles (Goyle's home). One by one, Harry's friends all arrived.

They were all ecstatic to see him hale and hearty. Harry related what had happened to him over the course of the very strange holiday. He told about not getting any letters, the unexpected rescue from Privet Drive, and the fire storm that had resulted.

Tim Nott leaned back in his chair, scratching his chin. "Who was it who sounded the alarm, that's what I wonder," he said.

"I think Father gave us that answer at breakfast," Draco said. "Dumbledore."

"He's been spying on me," Harry growled, not pleased with this revelation. "He's been spying on me, and he let the Muggles treat me worse than a dog."

"That's disgusting," Pansy Parkinson said vehemently. "What sort of man could possibly let things go on, knowing you were rotting away in that place? How can he sleep at night?"

"He's someone who doesn't care about Slytherins," Tim said, as if it were plainer than day. "Why should it matter if a Slytherin student is treated horribly at home. We're all doomed to become Death Eaters anyway, right? So much the better if some of us die while young." Tim's sarcasm was raw and biting.

"_I_ certainly won't be a Death Eater," Harry said flatly. Ho looked around at his friends. "And neither will any of you." There was no argument in that tone of voice.

Blaise squeezed his hand. "Oh Harry, how can you even think that any of us would join You-Know-Who? You're our friend, and we'd die before we turned on you."

"That's right," Millie Bulstrode chimed in. "And besides, why would we sign up with him when you've already defeated him twice before? We're on _your_ side, Harry."

Seeing his friends nod their heads and murmur their assent of Millie's words made Harry feel warm and fuzzy inside. He was about to say something emotional when everyone turned at the sound of Goyle's stomach growling.

Goyle turned a little bit red. "Hey Draco, it's getting close to lunch time. Is there any food around here?"

Draco sighed. "Of course there's food around here, you fathead."

"My head is not fat!" Goyle said, meandering towards the dining room.

Harry laughed. He'd missed that joke. He'd missed his friends. He got to his feet and fell in step with Millie and Blaise, who linked her arm with his. That was another thing he'd missed - the good sort of physical contact.

After lunch, the nine young Slytherins hurried out into the fresh summer air. Quidditch was on Harry's mind, and he reveled in being able to mount his Nimbus 2000 and rocket through the sky. He chased the Snitch all over the place, trying to make up in one afternoon what he'd missed in one month of imprisonment with the Muggles. His friends played four-person teams and let him fly free, knowing he needed the release.

Harry saw Elan sitting on his balcony at one point, watching the game. He was surprised to see Jamie Zabini sitting there as well. The couple was holding hands and talking. Once, Harry thought he saw them snogging, but the Snitch twisted away from him, and he had to focus on flying.

They played until the sun began to sink in the sky. It was the first time Harry had been able to play with his friends when they were all riding their own brooms, and they were excellent flyers. Draco gave him a bit of a contest when he played as Seeker for the other team, but his Comet 260 was really no match for Harry's Nimbus.

As the day faded away, the friends parted company. Hugging or shaking hands, they all promised to play together on the morrow. Jamie Zabini, who had snuck over despite Elan being grounded, departed as well, and she and Elan had an emotional parting that prompted much giggling from the younger boys and girls.

Shortly following the mass exodus from Malfoy Manor, dinner was served. Harry, Draco, and Elan all filed into the dining room and took seats. Mr. Malfoy strode in with a private sort of smile on his face. It was a look that said, 'I know something you don't know.'

"Good evening, Malfoys," he said, taking his seat at the head of the table. He snapped his fingers and house elves began running into the room carrying trays of food. It smelled heavenly.

"Lucius, you seem in a better mood," Mrs. Malfoy commented, taking a sip from her wine glass.

"I am indeed, my love." Mr. Malfoy clinked his wine glass against hers. "Thanks to Harry, all this 'Death Eater' nonsense will be blown over by the middle of next week. Rita's article should quiet even the most suspicious gossips. You realize it's going to be in the Sunday edition?"

"The Sunday has double the circulation of the daily," Draco contributed around a mouthful of roast.

"Chew your food," Mrs. Malfoy admonished him.

Mr. Malfoy was nodding. "Quite right, Draco. Between Harry's wonderful interview, my very productive meeting with Cornelius Fudge, and a long talk with an old friend of mine, I do believe everything is going to work out perfectly."

"Something's up," Draco whispered to Elan. "He's never this happy."

"Not unless he's about to spring a nasty surprise," Elan muttered back.

Mr. Malfoy was pleasant all throughout dinner. He asked about the Quidditch games they'd played, he talked about the Slytherin team's prospects for the upcoming school year, and he was even civil to Elan. Considering the way he'd blown up at breakfast, this was startling to Harry. Even Draco was unnerved by how normal things seemed to be.

It was nearly time for pudding to be served when the meal was interrupted by the arrival of several post owls. Harry was happy to see that one was bearing his letter from Hogwarts. Whatever strange problem had developed with his receipt of the post, it didn't affect his note from school. He tore it open immediately.

Inside was a form letter instructing him to catch the Hogwarts Express from King's Cross station on the first of September. Included with the letter was the list of the new books Harry would need for the coming year.

Second-Year Students Will Require:  
_The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2_ by Miranda Goshawk  
_Break with a Banshee_ by Gilderoy Lockhart  
_Gadding with Ghouls_ by Gilderoy Lockhart  
_Holidays with Hags_ by Gilderoy Lockhart  
_Travels with Trolls_ by Gilderoy Lockhart  
_Voyages with Vampires_ by Gilderoy Lockhart  
_Wandering with Werewolves_ by Gilderoy Lockhart  
_Year with the Yeti_ by Gilderoy Lockhart

"The new Defence professor must be a big fan of Lockhart," Draco commented. "I think this is every book he's written."

"Must be a witch then," Elan said with a grin.

"Who's Gildeory Lockhart?" Harry asked.

"Oh, he's ruddy famous," Draco answered. "He's travelled all over the world and done all sorts of great things. His books are all based on his experiences and adventures."

"Wow," Harry said. "Defense class should be more interesting than last year, eh, Draco?"

"Very much so," Draco nodded.

"Aren't you going to open your letter, Elan?" Mrs. Malfoy asked.

"What for?" Elan said after swallowing his mouthful. "It's only going to be the same old-" He stopped abruptly, staring queerly at the envelope sitting in front of him.

"Elan, what's wrong?" Mrs. Malfoy asked.

He was stunned. Absolutely stunned. Wordlessly, he only sat and stared at the letter. Harry peered over at it and was confused. His own letter had been sealed with the Hogwarts crest. The seal on Elan's letter bore a strange crest that Harry had never seen before.

"What's Durmstrang Academy?"

to be continued...


	4. Fallout

**They Shook Hands : Year Two**

An alternate (but realistic!) universe Harry Potter fic  
by Dethryl

**Chapter Four - Fallout**

"What's Durmstrang Academy?" Harry asked.

"It's a wizarding school in northern Europe," Elan told him, sounding spacey. "I don't understand. Why am I getting a letter from Durmstrang? Where's my Hogwarts letter" He broke the seal of the letter and opened it.

"'Dear Mister Malfoy,'" he read, "'On behalf of all the faculty, I welcome you to our family at Durmstrang Academy. We look forward to seeing you in September. Enclosed is a list and so on... May bring yeah, yeah... Directions through the IFloo... Sincerely, Ghedeon Chernozemski, Deputy Headmaster.'"

Elan stared at the parchment long after he had finished reading. He looked up at his father, who was calmly chewing. "You enrolled me in Durmstrang?" he said, not sounding as if he could believe it.

Mr. Malfoy swallowed. "Congratulations, Elan, your rapid grasp of the obvious is still unmatched."

Elan flushed. "You're sending me away because of _one_ error in judgement?" he asked incredulously.

"No! Because that one error in judgement could have landed you _and_ Draco in Azkaban Prison for the rest of your natural lives!" Mr. Malfoy snapped, his customary urbane tones suddenly gone. "Hogwarts, with its soft and pudgy headmaster, has been found lacking in certain aspects of your education. You'll learn discipline at Durmstrang that I should have had the good sense to teach you myself. I thought that you would learn as I did. Dumbledore has obviously run the school into the ground. Well, they'll set you and your ideas right at Durmstrang, boy. Perhaps some distance away from that tart will put some sense back into that addled brain of yours."

"Don't _talk_ about Jamie that way!"

"You will _not_ talk back to me," Mr. Malfoy informed his eldest son, glaring down the table.

"How could you do this without even consulting me?" Elan demanded in a low, angry tone.

Mr. Malfoy pulled a puzzled expression. "I am your father; my word is law; you are going to Durmstrang. What is there to discuss?"

"I'm a Hogwarts prefect!" Elan protested.

"Which means you should have known better!" Mr. Malfoy said sharply, with a deadly look in his eye.

"But why _Durmstrang_?" Elan said, beginning to sound personally offended.

"Headmaster Igor Karkaroff is an old friend of mine," Mr. Malfoy said, arching his fingers. "Needless to say, he was ill-amused when I told him of your little stunt. He's promised to keep a close eye on you."

"How could you do this without discussing it with _me_?" Mrs. Malfoy interjected in a very nasty tone. She had laid down her silverware and folded her arms. Hope flashed briefly across Elan's face.

Mr. Malfoy took a sip of his wine and sighed. "Cis, I did it because it's the best way to protect him. If he's out of the country, he's outside of Ministry jurisdiction. They won't be able to touch him."

He reached over and took his wife's hand. "Things will not get that far, of course. Rita's story tomorrow will help everything blow over. But I also made a deal with Fudge. He will sweep everything under the carpet without any investigation if Elan goes overseas for a few years. My meeting with the good Minister and Dumbledore was rather productive."

Mrs. Malfoy's eyes softened, and she shook her head slightly in Elan's direction. Elan's shoulders slumped. His last hope of salvation had conceded to his fate.

Mr. Malfoy moistened his lips with wine again. "It's just as well Fudge was so eager to make a deal," he said in an off-hand manner. "Elan will need to study for his NEWTs _somewhere_."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Elan asked sullenly.

"It means that Dumbledore told me in no uncertain terms that you would not be welcome back at Hogwarts," Mr. Malfoy said icily. "Do you have any _idea_ how humiliating it was to have to stand there and take that kind of an insult from that miserable _bastard_? A _Malfoy_ not welcome at Hogwarts? _That_ is the crux of your crime, my son. You have shamed the family name, because there will always be those who persist in believing lies. They will make trouble."

Elan was stony-faced for a few moments. Silence ruled the table. "May I be excused?" Elan finally asked in a faint voice.

"No," Mr. Malfoy said. "Finish your dinner."

Elan paled, and the lines on his forehead suddenly crinkled as his face became an ugly frown. Mr. Malfoy looked at his son with what could only be described as an eager expression.

"Are you angry with me, Elan?" he asked mockingly. "Do you want to hex me? Do it!" he urged. "Draw your wand! Cast your most powerful curse at me! I'll give you far worse then a boil on the bum this time." He lowered the pitch of his voice. "I'll give you a quick lesson in duelling technique that you won't soon forget."

Elan's face was pale beneath this verbal onslaught. He didn't respond to his father's invitation to issue a challenge. Wordlessly, he picked up his fork and resumed eating his dinner.

"Good," Mr. Malfoy said, his tone back to its normal civilized urbanity. "Be grateful for your dinner. There are some families that don't have a fine meal like we do."

Harry didn't know what to think. He felt so awfully out of place. He wanted to become small and hide himself away. This was a family problem, but this was not _his_ family. He didn't belong here.

It was awful that he had caused this. Harry felt he should apologize, but he didn't know to whom; he didn't know what he should say. He started to speak, but failed. He tried again, but stopped before uttering a sound. Draco looked at him and shook his head slightly. He turned his eyes to his empty dinner plate.

Mr. Malfoy continued eating his food. Time crept by in agonizing slowness; a hole in time had apparently opened up, engulfing the dinner table. Nobody uttered a word until Mr. Malfoy finally snapped his fingers for pudding to be served. Elan was not permitted pudding, and Mr. Malfoy sent him to his room. After Elan had left the table, Mrs. Malfoy said something to her husband in a low voice not intended to carry, and they began to discuss a household matter privately. Harry and Draco finished quickly and went upstairs.

"Well, that was ugly," Draco said in a fake-cheery tone, flouncing onto his bed. "I did warn you about Father's sarcastic streak when we first met."

"That was brutal," Harry said, still feeling slightly stunned. "Not even the Muggles yell at me like that. That was much more creative. I'm used to just threats of no food and being locked in the cupboard."

"I will say one thing," Draco said, rolling over and staring up at the ceiling. "When Father really lets loose on you, you know you've earned it. Elan's stunt was monumentally stupid."

"It was your stunt too," Harry pointed out.

"I was just along for the ride," Draco said casually. "Besides, my punishment is something worse than Father's sarcasm," he lamented. "No new broom this year. And I'll never make the team without one."

"Your brother is going off to Bulgaria, and all you can think about is your broom?" Harry said incredulously.

"I'm being realistic about things," Draco said calmly. "There's nothing I can do about Elan going to Durmstrang. True? Ergo, I should concentrate on the factors that will affect me more directly. And not being able to try out for the Quidditch team wounds me to the very core."

"You can still try out," Harry told his friend.

"The Comet Two-Eighty just came out," Draco replied. "The Nimbus Two Thousand is top of the line. The Cleansweep Seven has been out for almost a year now. My Two-Sixty just isn't up to the task. I'll have to be on best behaviour and pray a lot for Christmas."

Draco reached over and snapped on the wizard's wireless, indicating that he didn't wish to talk about it anymore. Soon he and Harry were discussing Celestina Warbeck, the Three Weird Sisters, and other musical groups. The hour came, and the news programme began.

"This is the Wizards Broadcasting Corporation, I'm Aiden McDonald, and _this_ is the Isles Update on WBC Wireless Two. Our top story this evening: Harry Potter is allegedly kidnapped."

Harry snarled in disgust and was about to switch the wireless off when Draco motioned him to sit back down. "It's best to know what's being said."

"No further word on the alleged abduction of Harry Potter from his residence in Surrey, first reported by the Daily Prophet. The Ministry still has no official comment, but a Ministry official speaking on condition of anonymity said that the notion that the Death Eaters are a thing of the past is absurd and dangerous. However, sources close to Harry Potter have denied that the Boy-Who-Lived is in any danger. In other news, the Deputy Minister for Muggle Relations has..."

They turned down the volume. "I wonder who the Ministry person was," Harry said.

"Probably one of Dumbledore's goons," Draco said derisively. "What I want to know is who these so-called close sources are who are speaking for your health."

"Could it be Millie? Her dad works at the Ministry," Harry speculated.

"Possibly," Draco said non-committally. "Not to worry, the paper will straighten it all out."

"There is that," Harry said thankfully.

"Switch that thing off then, and let's have a game of chess."

**POTTER DENIES ABDUCTION!**  
by Rita Skeeter, Staff Reporter

In an exclusive personal interview, Harry Potter, lately of Surrey, vehemently denies that he was abducted by Death Eaters on Friday evening. Potter is calm, cool, and very much in control of his situation.

The scene is thus: On the night of his twelfth birthday, Harry Potter has been sent to his room without supper. He has been told to be absolutely silent, for the Muggles he lives with are having dinner guests. A friend of Potter's, Slytherin House prefect Elan O. Malfoy knocks at the door and invites Mr. Potter to go flying in the brisk summer night. The destination? Malfoy Manor in Wiltshire. The objective? A summer holiday with his own kind.

Mr. Potter tells a tale far removed from the alarmist, slanderous allegations babbled in the ear of a gullible moron who is somehow still employed by the _Daily Prophet_. Under pressure to reveal his source for the absolute lie he dutifully reported as fact, Edmund Shunpike named Arabella Figg, a known Squib, whose motives for slandering the fine old Malfoy family are unclear.

Mr. Potter firmly states that his friend was not wearing a white mask. The pale-skinned Mr. Malfoy _was_ wearing a black robe, Potter confirms, but the black robe is hardly a garment unique to Death Eaters or Dark wizards. The robes of the Hogwarts school uniform are black.

The idea of Death Eaters coming to his residence was ridiculed by Mr. Potter. "A Death Eater wouldn't have told me to get my things," Potter says. "If Death Eaters had shown up at my house, do you honestly think I'd still be alive?"

Harry had been eager to see the _Daily Prophet_ and read Rita's article. He was so anxious to see it that he had woken early and been unable to fall asleep again. He had lain in bed until the sun crept reluctantly into the dawn sky. He'd been the first person at the breakfast table the next morning.

Sitting at the table, Harry had waited for the elves to start bringing in food, then found he couldn't eat anything. He had watched the windows for the delivery owl, and when the paper finally did come, Harry was unfolding it even before the bird exited the room.

The picture looked quite fine. Harry's image looked very relaxed. Mr. Malfoy was smiling benevolently. His posture reminded Harry suddenly of the image he had seen in the Mirror of Erised. James Potter had placed his hand on Harry's shoulder in just that same manner.

He dropped the paper and slumped back in his chair in relief. He had said all the right things. It was perfect. He couldn't possibly have said anything else that would have helped. All the tension drained out of his body. Suddenly ravenous, he reached for the fried potatoes.

Mr. Malfoy had casually unfolded his paper and read the article with seeming leisure. He folded down the top part and gave Harry a faint nod. "Well done," was all he said.

Breakfast didn't have nearly the uncomfortable mood that last night's dinner had had. Elan was silent, but for the most part his sullenness was ignored by everyone else. The younger boys quickly finished and dashed outside as soon as they were excused from the table.

The sky was overcast, but that didn't stop Harry and Draco from turning loose the Snitch and chasing it all over the pitch. Harry usually won, but Draco wasn't all that bad at playing Seeker. When Draco tired of being beaten, he brought the Quaffle into the air.

"You're Slytherin's star Seeker," he said. "If I'm going to make the team, I'll have to do some awesome things as a Chaser."

"Let's get started on some drills then," Harry suggested. He flew back to the manor and landed on his balcony. He rummaged through his trunk until he found his battered copy of Marcus Flint's Quidditch playbook. Harry and Draco worked on Flint's Chaser tactics until well after noon. The sun was at its apex when they were called in to clean up for Sunday dinner.

Covered in sweat from the drills he'd been running with Draco, Harry gladly immersed himself in the tub full of soapy water. Though he gave serious thought to remaining until the water was stone cold, Harry's stomach refused to even consider the idea, and he towelled off quickly, dressed in some reasonably nice clothes, and hurried down to the dining room.

The meal was relatively quiet, and when he was excused, Harry went to his room and pulled out his schoolbooks. Opening up his Transfiguration text, he began his summer homework. It certainly wouldn't do to be unprepared when he went back to school. Professor McGonagall wouldn't take kindly to such academic sloth.

Worn out from his day, Harry closed his books after only a couple of hours and turned in early. He had put his notes away and was just finished changing into his pyjamas when Mrs. Malfoy knocked on his door.

"Good, you're already getting ready for bed," she told him. "I was coming by to recommend you get some sleep. Tomorrow's a big day, and you'll need to be well-rested."

"What's going on tomorrow?" Harry asked.

"We leave bright and early for Diagon Alley," she said. "Lots to buy, you know. You'll need new robes; I imagine you've been growing like a weed." That was certainly true. The sumptuous fare regularly found on the Hogwarts tables was a notch or two higher than the school food at Smeltings, to hear Dudley moan on and on about it.

"New books, of course," Mrs. Malfoy was saying. "All those Lockhart books, my word! You'll certainly get a decent Defence course if you pay close attention this year. A stop at the apothecary is always in order. And I'm sure you and Draco will want to waste at least two hours in Quality Quidditch Supplies." She delivered the last sentence with a smile, so Harry knew she didn't really think Quidditch a waste of time.

"Mrs. Malfoy?" Harry said as she was about to leave the room. She paused in the doorway and looked back at him. "Thank you. For everything."

She came over to the bedside and tucked him in. Wordlessly, she planted a kiss on his forehead and extinguished the lights. She slipped silently from the room, the door gliding shut with only the faintest of whispers.

Harry yawned hugely and closed his eyes. He tried to form a thought, but failed as sleep overcame him.

The next morning was a frenzied rush to get everyone awake, breakfasted, dressed, and assembled in front of the fireplace in the lounge. Harry had taken great pride in dressing himself in the robes of a wizard that morning. Now he was a little nervous, for he had never travelled by Floo before. Despite all of Draco's reassurances that it was safer than flying a broom, Harry felt uncomfortable at the idea of calmly stepping into a fire.

"This is Floo powder," Draco told him, showing him a tin filled with a glittering grey powder. "Take a good healthy pinch." Harry did so.

"The way it works is that you throw it in, like so," he demonstrated. The flames flared up suddenly and changed to a brilliant emerald green in colour. Elan ducked into the fireplace, not scalded at all.

"Diagon Alley!" he shouted and vanished with a poof of smoke.

"Keep your elbows tucked in, your eyes shut, and don't inhale deeply. When you stop spinning, look for Elan. Don't get out at the wrong place, now."

Harry dutifully repeated these instructions. He threw his pinch of powder into the roaring flames and nervously stepped forward. The flames licking at his limbs felt just like a warm summer breeze. He could have laughed for sheer delight. Oh, wasn't magic wonderful!

"Diagon Alley!" he shouted.

It felt as though he were being sucked down a giant drain. He seemed to be spinning very fast. Not wanting to get sick, he kept his eyes firmly shut. He had a roaring noise in his ears that no one had warned him about. Something hard knocked his elbow, and he pressed his arms flat at his sides. He gasped as he suddenly felt a cold hand slap his face. No one had told him about that either, he thought viciously. Fortunately it wasn't very hard, but it was still something of a shock. The strange slapping kept up for a little while longer, gradually becoming less frequent. Perhaps he was slowing down. He hadn't imagined it, and though his head was still spinning, he opened his eyes.

There in front of him was Elan. Harry took a step forward and lurched to the side. Elan caught him and guided him out of the fireplace. "All right there, Harry?"

Gonna be sick, Harry thought. He nodded his head anyway. "Sit," he said.

"There's a stool at the counter," Elan told him. "I'll walk you there."

After his first step had been so dreadful, he was inclined to accept Elan's help. Legs shaking slightly, he sat gratefully at the counter and looked around.

He was in the public room at the Leaky Cauldron. Harry smiled, remembering all the people who'd been so awed of him and eager to shake his hand. At the time he'd been downright confused and embarrassed, but now he felt like he understood them a bit better. Accidental or not, he was still a hero. He'd helped these people, and they were grateful.

At least he wasn't alone now. Draco and Elan, as well as Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy could do a fine job of making sure he didn't get mobbed. It would inevitably happen as soon as someone caught sight of his scar.

Draco and his parents popped out of the Floo a minute later, and Harry was feeling slightly better. His face must still have been green though, because Draco snapped his fingers at Old Tom the bartender. "Tom, some butterbeers."

"Shame on you, Elan," Draco scolded his older brother. "The first thing you should have done was buy him a drink to settle his stomach."

"I was more worried about him falling over, you brat," Elan retorted. "I had to help him walk over here. I was about to get the drinks."

"Now, now, boys, no need to fight," Mr. Malfoy said smoothly. He laid a gold Galleon on the counter. Old Tom set down three frosty tankards filled with a foamy yellow beverage. He started to make change, but Mr. Malfoy waved him away. "Drink up, Harry. Butterbeer is one of life's finest delights."

Harry took a sip of his drink and closed his eyes in bliss. The cold drink was the most delicious thing he'd ever tasted. A warm glow filled him, and he set the tankard down with a thump.

"Good, eh?" Draco winked at him.

"Very," Harry said, wiping his mouth.

"I have some business to attend to," Mr. Malfoy told the three boys. He kept one arm tucked beneath his light summer cloak, holding a box of some kind. His other hand gripped the handle of his silver cane. "Draco, will you and Harry be alright for the time being?"

"Yes, Father," Draco said.

"Good. I'll meet you at Flourish and Blotts in one hour. And do try to keep your brother out of trouble." With that final jibe, the Malfoys stepped out into the back alley. Elan's eyes flashed, but he said nothing. He merely took a long sip of his butterbeer.

Harry tried to make his drink last as long as possible, but it was so good that he couldn't help drinking it quickly.

"Can we get more?" he asked.

Draco laughed. "Maybe on the way back through," he said. "I want to get to Quality Quidditch and look at the new models for awhile."

"You'll only be torturing yourself," Elan said moodily.

"And who do I have to thank for that?" Draco asked rhetorically. "You. So shut it."

Elan didn't even rise to that bait. He merely drained the rest of his tankard and got to his feet. He ambled towards the back alley, not looking back to see if they would follow.

"He's really bent out of shape," Harry said, feeling sympathetic.

"He's being a prat," Draco said scornfully. "I don't even think it's Durmstrang that bothers him. The school has a really good reputation. No, I think it's this separation from Jamie that's eating him up inside. He's smitten, the poor fool."

"You don't approve of love?" Harry asked sceptically.

"I approve of love," Draco answered, "but love should be a _part_ of your life, not consume it entirely. He's acting very stupidly, in my opinion."

"Well, they _do_ seem pretty happy together," Harry pointed out.

"And so they are," Draco said candidly. "But their situation is going to change, there's nothing they can do about it, and they might as well accept it."

He stood up and swallowed the last of his butterbeer. "You done?"

Harry followed suit. "I am now," he agreed. He followed Draco out to the back alley. Draco drew his wand and tapped three times on the third brick up, two bricks over.

The brick quivered for a second, wriggling in place. The other bricks set to squirming as well, and soon they were all folding back to form an archway.

Harry had seen it once before, but it was still impressive. He stepped through onto the crowded street and smiled. Magic was in the air.

Owls shrieked at Eeylops' Owl Emporium. Cauldrons rang at the shop just across the way. Everywhere there were people milling about, chatting, buying, and selling. In the distance he could see the snowy white pillars of Gringotts rising high above the other shops.

Harry needed to get his money before he did anything else. He and Draco stood in the queue for only ten minutes before there was a goblin free to see him. He could just barely see the top of the counter as he placed his vault key for the goblin's inspection.

"Harry Potter, vault six-eight-seven, please."

The goblin peered at the key. "This seems to be in order," it said in a squeaky, high-pitched voice that startled Harry. "Roundtop will take you down. Roundtop!"

Roundtop was a goblin with an extremely long, pointed nose. He led Harry and Draco over to the cart and they set off at dizzying speeds. Draco whooped and shouted as they rode, clearly having fun. Harry held on tightly to the restraint bar and tried not to be sick.

Two dizzying experiences, he reflected. And still the Floo trip back. He wondered when his stomach was going to insist that it had had quite enough of this sort of treatment.

"Vault six-eight-seven," the goblin informed them as the cart slammed to a sudden halt. Harry leaned over the side and spat the bile that had risen in his throat. Wearily, he dragged himself out of the cart and onto the stone shelf. He handed the goblin his key and stepped in as the doors opened.

The green smoke billowed away, and Harry took a good look at his fortune. Beside him, Draco gasped in astonishment.

"Blimey, Harry," he breathed. "This is quite a haul."

"There's more here than when I was here last year," Harry said, feeling slightly confused. "Does money here collect interest?"

"Some," Draco told him. "Maybe you've got some investments your parents left for you. Father has a trust fund set up for me that I'm not allowed to touch until I come of age. If your parents did that, the earnings would pile up here."

There was a new pile of gold Galleons. The stacks of silver Sickles had grown even taller. Bronze Knuts were heaped in piles everywhere. Harry brought out his money pouch and began loading it up with a liberal mix of the coins.

"You could easily buy a whole team's worth of new Nimbuses," Draco said wistfully.

"I think that's 'Nimbii'," Harry said helpfully.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Ok, Blaise. C'mon, let's get up to the street. Our hour is ticking away."

The ride back up was just as dizzying and sickening as the ride down. The butterbeer he'd consumed cushioned his system a bit, but Harry felt decidedly queasy as they stepped into the street and hurried to look at the new Comet-280 on display.

Draco mooned over the broom for a bit, but not excessively. He and Harry encountered Terry Boot and struck up a discussion about Quidditch. Before it seemed five minutes had passed, their free hour was up, and they had to hurry off to the book shop.

The shop had quite a mob out in front. Jostling back and forth, it seemed as though the crowd would press in to critical density. The reason for the crowd was proclaimed by a large banner stretched along the upper windows:

**GILDEROY LOCKHART**  
will be signing copies of his autobiography  
**MAGICAL ME**  
today 12:30 P.M. to 4:30 P.M.

The crowd was made up mostly of witches around Mrs. Malfoy's age. A harried-looking wizard stood at the door, saying, "Calmly, please, ladies. Don't push. Please mind the books."

Harry and Draco squeezed inside and spotted Blaise almost immediately. She waved them over to where she was standing with Jamie and Elan. When Harry got close, she gave him a warm hug.

"Elan said you were around somewhere," she said by way of introduction. "Isn't it great? Lockhart's written almost the whole booklist, and he's actually here today. What fabulous luck!"

"Going to get his biography?" Draco teased her. She stuck out her tongue at him.

"Autobiography. And hardly. But Pansy already has a copy, and she's right up near the front to get it signed.

"If she's up front, let's go stand with her," Draco suggested. "I'd like to meet this fellow."

They snuck through the line. Draco crept up right behind Pansy and tickled her sides. Pansy shrieked in shock and lost her hold on the book as she flailed about.

"Draco!" she shouted, trying to defend herself. It wasn't easy. She'd been caught unawares, and he had good positioning. Harry picked up the book she'd dropped and was treated to the sight of a man with wavy blond hair and too-white teeth set in a perfect smile. The photograph winked at him and continued smiling. It was slightly unnerving.

"I give up!" Pansy cried weakly, leaning against a wall, giggling furiously. Draco accepted her surrender and gave her a hug. "Hullo, Harry," she wheezed.

"Hello, Pansy," he replied. Poor Pansy's face was beet-red, and her hair was all askew. She took back her book from him.

"I can't. Believe. We get to meet him," she panted. "Famous. Dashing. Handsome."

Harry thought her reaction to be very funny indeed. Up at the front, the real Lockhart had just stepped into view. He flashed that dazzling smile and waved to the crowd. He was wearing robes in a shade of forget-me-not blue that perfectly matched his eyes. His pointed wizard's hat was fixed at a jaunty angle on his wavy hair.

A photographer was circling around Lockhart at a distance, shoving through the crowd, and taking pictures with a camera that let off foul purple smoke. "Stand aside, Daily Prophet," he said every few seconds. The crowd did its best to get out of his way.

Pansy sighed dreamily as Lockhart turned in their direction, and she fanned herself with the book. Draco poked her in the side, but she was on guard now and merely hit him with the book.

The sound of the heavy book hitting Draco's head must have caught Lockhart's ears, because his eyes suddenly focused in on them. Harry saw those blue orbs widen and knew that his scar had been seen.

"It can't be _Harry Potter_," Lockhart said in an awed voice.

to be continued...


	5. Like Son, Like Father

**They Shook Hands : Year Two**

An alternate (but realistic!) universe Harry Potter fic  
by Dethryl

**Chapter Five - Like Son, Like Father**

Lockhart's eyes suddenly focused in on them. Harry saw those blue orbs widen and knew that his scar had been seen. "It can't be _Harry Potter_," Lockhart said in an awed voice.

"Harry Potter!" the photographer exclaimed, and he grabbed Harry's arm, dragging him to the front. Lockhart took Harry's hand and shook it vigorously as the photographer started snapping away. Harry groaned inwardly.

"Thank Merlin you're alive, Harry! I was only minutes away from setting out in search of you when I heard the good news that you were unharmed. Big smile now, Harry. Together, you and I rate the front page." Lockhart said all this while maintaining his perfect smile.

Harry didn't really understand that statement. He rated the front page all by himself, but there wasn't much time to ponder. He was too busy trying to extricate his hand from Lockhart's iron grip. When he finally let go, Harry could hardly feel his fingers. He tried to sidle off to the side, but Lockhart was having none of it. He put his arm around Harry's shoulders.

"Ladies and gentlemen, what an extraordinary moment this is," he said in a theatrical voice. "It strikes me that this would be the perfect opportunity to make a little announcement that I've been keeping under wraps for some time now. You see, when Harry Potter stepped into Flourish and Blotts today to buy my autobiography, _Magical Me_, he had no idea, _no idea_," Lockhart repeated, "that he and his classmates would shortly be getting the _real_ magical me."

The crowd buzzed for a moment over what Lockhart could mean. "Yes, good people, I'm very pleased to announce that come September I will be taking up the post of instructor of Defence Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!"

The crowd burst into applause. Lockhart let them cheer for a bit, then he waved his hands for quiet. "You'll need to study hard, Harry," he said. "And so I'm happy to present you with my complete works, in addition to my autobiography, _Magical Me_, totally free of charge."

The crowd applauded again at this show of generosity. Harry found his arms suddenly full of books, and he staggered under the weight. He carried the load over to where Draco and the others were waiting.

"Good show," Draco said to him. "You saved a pretty penny on those books."

"It's not like I couldn't afford them," Harry grumbled.

"Never turn down a chance to save money," Elan said. "Those books are mighty expensive."

"He hardly has to worry about that," Draco laughed. "Blimey, Elan, you should see his vault!"

"I've seen large piles of money before, Draco," Elan told his little brother in a patronizing tone.

"Harry's vault puts your trust fund to shame," Draco shot back.

Pansy had stepped away from them, moving forward in the queue to get her book signed. Blaise and Jamie entered the other queue to pay for their books. Leaving Elan and their books with the sisters, Draco helped Harry shove through the crowd to the door. When he got outside, Harry took a deep breath of much-needed fresh air. It was well he enjoyed it, because his respite was not to last.

"I bet you loved that, didn't you, Potter?" Harry knew that voice. Obnoxious and insulting, it could only be Ron Weasley. Harry dropped the stack of Lockhart's books and turned to find Weasley sneering at him. A red-haired girl was standing next to him with a cauldron full of books and school supplies. By the similarity of their features (and the red hair), she must be Weasley's younger sister.

"Bet, Weasley?" Draco said in a mocking tone. "How can _you_ bet on anything?"

"Shut up, Malfoy," Weasley snapped, not shifting his gaze. "Famous Harry Potter," he said in a disgusted voice. "He can't even go into a _bookshop_ without making the front page."

"Jealous much?" Harry said coolly.

"Hardly," Weasley scorned. "You're entirely too full of yourself, do you know that?"

"Don't cause trouble, Ron," the girl said exasperatedly. "Leave him alone."

Draco laughed. "Look there, Harry," he drawled. "You've got yourself a _girlfriend!_"

Both Weasleys turned bright red. The girl stared at her shoes. "I told you to shut up, Malfoy!" Weasley seethed.

"Yes, and I ignored you," Draco retorted. "I'd like to continue ignoring you, but I find myself curious as to what you've been doing in a bookshop. Surely you're not _buying_ anything."

Weasley was silent, but he glared daggers in Draco's direction. Draco stared back, neither willing to blink first. "Tell me, how long are your parents going to go hungry to pay for all those books? One month? Two? What bank was foolish enough to extend you credit?"

Weasley snarled and lunged for Draco's throat, but his sister grabbed onto his collar. "Let me go, Gin!" Weasley growled.

"Children, I hope you're playing nicely," came Mr. Malfoy's urbane voice as he glided closer, interrupting the impending confrontation. "And who do we have here?" he asked rhetorically. His eyes flicked over the two scruffy-looking children. "Red hair, shabby robes, and vacant expressions." He smiled coldly. "You must be Weasleys."

His face an ugly red, Weasley muttered something unintelligible. He held his shaking hands at his sides. He stared impertinently, but even he was cowed by Mr. Malfoy's imposing demeanour.

"There you are, Ron," said an older man as he hurried up. "Ginny, good, you're here too."

"Well, well, well, Weasley Senior," Mr. Malfoy said in that same superior manner.

Mr. Weasley made eye contact with Mr. Malfoy. "Lucius," he said. He sounded as though he'd eaten something that disagreed with him..

"Such a busy time at the Ministry," Mr. Malfoy said dryly. "All those raids. I _do_ hope they're paying you overtime." He reached into the girl's cauldron and extracted a very old, very worn copy of _A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration_. He flipped it open and turned the pages distastefully.

"Although from the looks of _this_, obviously not." Closing the book with a sudden snap, he dropped it back in the cauldron. Mr. Malfoy looked down his nose at Mr. Weasley. "Tell me, Arthur, what's the use in being a disgrace to the name of wizard if they don't even pay you well for it?"

Mr. Weasley's face flushed. "We have a very different idea of what disgraces the name of wizard, Lucius. Kidnapping, lying to the media, bribing government officials? Why, those are things that _Muggles_ do."

Mr. Malfoy went pale. His hand twisted the handle of his cane, and suddenly he was pointing a wand at the other man! Mr. Weasley had his wand out a second later.

"Duelling in public, Lucius?" Mr. Weasley asked in astonishment. "Quite willing to flout the law, aren't you?"

"There is no Muggle filth around to see," Mr. Malfoy said through clenched teeth. "I will not stand here and be insulted by the likes of _you_."

"It makes me wonder what other laws you've broken," Mr. Weasley continued relentlessly. "Perhaps the Ministry needs to make a visit to _your_ manor."

"A'right, gents, a'right, break it up!" boomed a loud voice. A huge man stepped between the two wizards. His bushy beard wiggled as he talked. "No need fer drawin' wands an' castin' spells," Hagrid said firmly.

Mr. Malfoy glared at this interruption, but he _did_ put his wand away, seeing the surrounding crowd for the first time. "Perhaps we could finish this another time," he suggested silkily.

Mr. Weasley's expression changed from anger to a beatific smile. "Certainly. Ron, Ginny, we're going."

Harry's enemy glared at him, but there was really nothing to be done. He helped his sister pick up her cauldron and carry it off. Hagrid watched them leave. Then he nodded to the Slytherins and walked away as well.

"You should have hexed him, Father," Draco said disappointedly.

"Silence, Draco," his father commanded. "Where is your brother?"

"I'm right here," Elan said, handing Draco a bag full of books. "Harry's Standard Book of Spells is in there too."

"Good," Mr. Malfoy said. "If you all have your books, then I suggest we finish up your shopping. Draco, don't you need new robes?"

That was clearly an imperative. "Yes, I do," Draco answered. "We all do, actually. Where shall we meet you?"

"The Leaky Cauldron. Make sure not to dawdle."

"I will," Draco promised. "Er, I mean I won't. Or-"

"You _will_ make sure not to dawdle," Mr. Malfoy corrected him. "And don't forget the Apothecary."

Madam Malkin was pleased to see them returning to her shop. Leaving her assistant Alice to attend to Draco, she waited on Harry herself, just as she had a year ago.

Draco grinned at Harry. "And now we've come full circle," he said.

Harry nodded. "It's been an interesting year," he commented.

"That it has," Draco agreed. "But a good one."

"Oh yes," Harry said fervently. "I wouldn't trade this last year for anything."

"Me neither. I'm glad we became friends, Harry," Draco told him.

Harry smiled. "Me too."

When their robes were finished, the two boys stocked up on Potions ingredients at the Apothecary. A fresh supply of ink and parchment rounded out the shopping trip. Elan had vanished at some point, so they carried their packages to the Leaky Cauldron unescorted.

They sat down with Mr. Malfoy, who had regained his good humour, and Mrs. Malfoy, who apologized for her own disappearing act. She had seen an old friend heading into Ollivander's and had spent several hours catching up.

Elan finally joined them when Mr. Malfoy was on his third glass of wine. He said nothing as his eldest son sat down. Harry could see traces of smudged lipstick on Elan's face, and he grinned, knowing why the older boy had been late.

Mr. Malfoy had taken the best table in the whole pub, and now he snapped his fingers for service. Several young men hurried over and began taking meal orders. When they had all ordered, Mr. Malfoy inquired after the boys' summer homework and how much of it they had left to do.

"Almost none," Draco assured his father. "Just a dratted essay for Binns."

"History is very important, Draco," Mr. Malfoy said chidingly. "If we do not learn from our history, we are doomed to repeat the mistakes of the past."

He queried Harry with a glance. "I've started my Transfiguration," Harry answered. "I'm going to work on the rest of it when we get back."

Mr. Malfoy nodded. "That's good. If you need any help, I will be glad to advise you."

"Thank you, sir."

"Mr. Potter?" It was a woman's voice coming from just over Harry's shoulder. He turned to see an older woman standing there. He knew her. She'd been a patron of the Leaky Cauldron when he'd first come here with Hagrid.

"How are you, ma'am?" he asked politely. "Mrs.?"

"Crockford, sir, Doris Crockford. You may not remember me, but-"

"I remember you," Harry assured her. "You kept coming up to shake hands."

"Please forgive me, sir," Doris Crockford asked of him, shaking her head. "I was just so overwhelmed by meeting you. I hope you weren't too dreadfully embarrassed."

Harry smiled at her. "Not at all. It's good to see you again."

"Oh, aren't you a dear for saying so," she tittered. "I also read that horrible lie in Saturday's Prophet," she continued, glancing at the Malfoys, "and Ms. Skeeter's article yesterday. I think it's disgraceful how you had to put up with that sort of treatment. I don't know what kind of humans those Muggles call themselves, but they certainly don't make the grade in _my_ book," she huffed.

"Thank you, ma'am," Harry said.

"I was wondering," Doris Crockford said to him. "What is your favourite kind of bickie? I'm going to be doing some baking tomorrow, and I'll make a batch especially for you."

Harry felt this was entirely excessive, but Elan's message from earlier in the day echoed in his head: Never turn down anything free.

"Chocolate chip," he replied. He did like sweets, and if she went overboard, he could always share.

Doris Crockford nodded in a satisfied manner. "I make wonderful chocolate chip cookies. I'll send them out, and you'll get them still hot."

"That would be very nice," Harry said to her. "Thank you so much."

"Thank _you_, Mr. Potter." Doris Crockford shook his hand and went back to her table.

"Yay for sweets," Draco observed. "I love chocolate chip too."

Doris Crockford was not the only well-wisher to come up to Harry. Once she had broken the ice, as it were, others approached to tell Harry how thankful they were that he was alive and well. A tiny man wearing a violet top hat stepped closer, and Harry actually got to his feet.

"Mister Diggle!" he exclaimed.

Dedalus Diggle jumped in shock, and his top hat fell to the floor. Harry bent down to pick it up as it rolled to a stop. He held it out to the small man who accepted it with trembling fingers.

"Mister Potter, you've quite honoured me," he said. "To remember me twice now, I'm quite overcome." He bowed quite deeply. "I merely wanted to pay my respects. If you ever need a friend, Dedalus Diggle is at your service."

Mr. Malfoy had not quite a sneer on his face as he watched Diggle depart. "Diggle," he said in a loaded tone. "A great fool if there ever was one."

"He seems nice," Harry protested. Diggle had bowed to him once in a shop even before Harry had known about the wizarding world or why he was so famous.

"He's an impractical fool," Mr. Malfoy reiterated. "Completely given over to ostentatious gestures. I wouldn't rely on him in any sort of meaningful capacity."

When they arrived back at Malfoy Manor, Harry received quite a shock. His bedroom was a mess of letters and packages! He opened up one of the letters and saw that it was from a Mrs. Littan.

"'So sorry for what you've gone through,'" he read. "'Best wishes, don't let the Muggles get you down.'" He looked at Draco. "What _is_ all this?"

"It's probably all from people who read the Prophet yesterday," Draco replied. "You _are_ ruddy famous, you know."

Harry opened up one of the packages. Inside he found a container of home-made macaroni and cheese. The note was from a Mrs. Harwood and said that no boy should have to go hungry.

"Is it _all_ like this?" he wondered.

"Probably," Draco told him. "You won't have to worry about good eating for awhile."

"Not like I have to worry about it while I'm _here_," Harry pointed out.

"This is also true," Draco admitted. "Hey, look!"

"What?"

"This package is from Weasley's mother!"

"You're kidding!" Harry was astonished. Of all the people who could have sent him presents, a Weasley was the last he expected.

"Open it up. Let's see what's inside," Draco told him.

Inside turned out to be a tin of pot roast. It smelled absolutely heavenly.

"I bet it would just kill Weasley to know that his mum sent you food," Draco laughed. "We should tell him."

"It's still warm," Harry marvelled.

"It must be maaaagic!" Draco drawled, wiggling his fingers at Harry.

Harry shoved the hand aside. "Very funny."

"Let's have a bit," Draco suggested. "It at least _smells_ good."

The pot roast tasted just as good as it smelled. Despite having eaten a large dinner, they quickly devoured the contents of the tin, right down to the last drop of gravy.

Draco groaned and put his hands on his belly. "That was delicious," he confessed. "Maybe being a Weasley isn't so bad if they get to eat like _that_ every night."

"They probably don't," Harry said. "Not with the odd dozen kids they've got."

"Right, how silly of me."

Harry opened more letters, and they were all variations on a theme. 'Dear Mr. Potter, it's a shame about those Muggles, enjoy my wonderful cooking.' Signed, Mrs. Nesbit, Mrs. Wenlock, Mrs. Corey, and so on.

When he'd opened all the pacakges, Harry thought he had enough food to feed a small army, or Crabbe and Goyle, for a week.

"How am I ever going to eat all this?" he demanded.

"We'll invite Goyle and Crabbe over tomorrow. I'm sure they'll be glad to help."

"Don't those two get fed at home?" Harry asked. He was amused to discover that Draoc had been thinking thoughts similar to his own.

"Of course they do," Draco scoffed. "How else do you think they got that big?"

"Well, my cousin Dudley is huge. And Uncle Vernon is pretty big too."

"It's a combination," Draco said. "Crabbe and Goyle Senior are big men. And they like to eat, so there's always lots of food around. Vincent and Greg just grew up that way."

Harry looked around the room. Stacks of containers covered every available surface and a decent portion of the floor. "I don't have to keep this all here, do I?"

"No, I'll get one of the house elves." Draco snapped his fingers. With a crack like a whip, one of the little creatures appeared. "Take all this food to the kitchens," Draco ordered. "Put it separate from the regular food and label the shelf with Harry Potter's name."

The elf bowed low and waved its hands. The packages rose into the air and followed the elf as it silently left the room. All that remained was a pile of letters.

"I suppose I should reply to all of these," he said glumly. There were dozens of letters. It would take all day tomorrow.

"Why bother?" Draco asked. "They didn't do it because they wanted a reply. They wrote and sent food because they felt bad for you. Send a few if you like, but by and large, no one will be waiting breathlessly for a thank you note."

That flip attitude didn't really sit well with Harry. He made up his mind that he would at least send a brief note to everyone who had sent him food. Those women had put some time into their cooking. It would be very rude to not acknowledge that effort.

Harry woke early the next morning as the dawn sunlight streamed into the room. Yawning, he stepped out onto the balcony and took a deep breath of fresh air. The air was cool with the promise of clear skies all day. It was perfect weather for playing Quidditch.

Regretfully, he turned his back on the light and sat at the desk to write. Writing all those thank you notes took as long as he had feared, and his stomach was rumbling by the time was finished. He'd missed breakfast.

"Harry?" That was Draco knocking on his door. "Harry, are you all right?"

"Come in," Harry called.

Draco stepped across the threshold. "Is everything well?" he asked.

"I'm fine," Harry assured him. "I've just been writing thank you notes."

Draco stared at him queerly. "By hand?"

"As opposed to?"

"Mum's got a miming quill," Draco informed him. "You write the letter once, and it will remember what you wrote. You just set it up on a new piece of parchment, and it will write another copy. Then you only have to go through and add the names. It's perfect for invitations, thank you notes, and so on."

Harry sighed exasperatedly. "And you didn't feel it necessary to tell me about this last night?"

"You didn't ask. If you'd told me you were going to write these things anyway..."

Harry pushed his quill away in disgust.

Draco shook his head. "It's a waste of time anyway," he pronounced. "And you missed breakfast."

"I'm aware of that. I was thinking of having some of my food. How do I get one of those elves to bring it up for me?"

"Just snap your fingers. They'll show, if they know what's good for them."

Harry snapped his fingers. Sure enough, a house elf appeared with a loud cracking noise. "Yes, sir?" it said in a trembling voice. Harry looked to Draco, and his friend nodded encouragingly.

"Bring me some of my fried potatoes," Harry told it.

"And be sure to heat them up," Draco added. "If they're even a tiny bit cold, we shall be very displeased."

The elf shuddered. "Oh yes, sirs. Nibby will bring the potatoes, and they will be hot, sirs."

"And two glasses of pumpkin juice," Draco snapped. The elf vanished as noisily as it had come.

"You have to specify everything with house elves," Draco sighed. "It would have brought stone cold potatoes, no fork, no juice. You'd be lucky to get a plate. They have their uses, but elves are very limited. You get a few smart ones here and there, but they're generally very simple. They can follow a recipe though, so they make excellent cooks."

Before Harry could reply to that, the elf appeared in the room again, holding two plates of steaming fried potatoes. Two glasses of pumpkin juice floated nearby. The potatoes were very good, and as soon as the meal was finished, the elf took the plates away.

"So what shall we do today?" Draco asked brightly.

"I need to get my homework done." Harry was half looking forward to it and half not.

"Ick." Draco made a face. "Well, why not leave it for tonight? We can call up the others and have a nice game of Quidditch."

"All afternoon?" Harry asked. That prospect was infinitely more appealing than homework.

"Sure. Why not."

And that's how things went for the rest of the summer holiday. In the mornings, Harry would explore both the manor and the grounds with Draco. In the afternoons, they would play Quidditch with their friends. In the evenings, Harry would study his books.

He threw himself into his school work with vigour. Working together with Draco, he quickly finished the History of Magic essay for Professor Binns. On his own he eventually completed the assignments for his other classes. He found the manor's library to be of inestimable value.

Mr. Malfoy had shown him a large map of Europe once while he'd been studying in the library. Elan's new school, Durmstrang, was in northern Europe, in part of the former Soviet Union known as Kaliningrad. It would be cold there, part of the reason the red school robes were made of heavy wool.

Elan himself spent most of his time shut up in his room moping. He came out only for meals, though Harry once saw him studying in the library. He was ostensibly hard at work on his summer assignments, but Harry wasn't sure how much he was getting done.

It was rather a lousy deal, Harry reflected. Elan had done all his work for his classes at Hogwarts, and now it was wasted effort. Or so he assumed. He hadn't raised the subject with Elan during any of the brief moments he'd spent in the older boy's company. Harry still didn't know what, if anything, he should say.

It was difficult to imagine what Hogwarts would be like without the blond prefect around. Harry felt bad for the new Slytherin first years; they wouldn't have Elan to guide them around the castle, help them with school work, or tuck them in after a bad dream.

Elan's depression weighed on Harry, but he had many other things to occupy him during his summer holiday. Days flashed by almost without notice, so it was a bit of a shock when Mr. Malfoy informed the boys that they would be leaving for London in the morning.

to be continued...


	6. Gonna Go Back To Hogwarts If I Can

**They Shook Hands : Year Two**

An alternate (but realistic!) universe Harry Potter fic  
by Dethryl

**Chapter Six - Gonna Go Back To Hogwarts If I Can**

The morning of September first was like many of the other summer days Harry had experienced at Malfoy Manor. The sunlight streaming through his window made Harry yawn and pull the blankets up over his head. Drowsily, he lay there for a time. Then the sleep-fog cleared from his brain, and he sat bolt upright. He was going back to Hogwarts!

Harry was a blur for the next few minutes as he hurried through his morning ablutions. He took perhaps the quickest shower on record. He hurried around his room, grabbing all his belongings and packing up his school trunk.

He had just closed the lid when Draco knocked at his door. "Harry? Are you awake?"

"Come in!" Harry called.

"Breakfast is going to be on the table in a few minutes. We should get down there." Draco looked around at the room, which looked just as it had when Harry had first arrived. "Have you been up since sunrise?"

"Not quite," Harry replied. "I just can't wait to get back to school."

"That's got to be the strangest thing you've ever said," Draco chuckled.

Harry stuck out his tongue and left his trunk behind as he strolled out the door and down to the dining room. Sitting down, he helped himself to the toast. He found himself very curious indeed as to how they would be getting to King's Cross station. From his extensive explorations of the manor and grounds, he knew the Malfoys did not have a motor car.

"We'll Floo into London," Draco told him when he asked. "From there, we walk a bit to the station. Never fear, 'tisn't far."

"Draco, I'm afraid you and Harry will be on your own once we get to London," Mr. Malfoy said. "Elan and I will be continuing on to the International Floo Hub and from there on to Durmstrang."

Elan looked very put out that he would personally be escorted all the way to school.

"It will be good to see my old friend Karkarov again," Mr. Malfoy continued. "I haven't seen him in eleven years or so."

"Are you boys all packed?" Mrs. Malfoy inquired.

"Harry is," Draco said through a mouthful. "I just need to throw my books together."

"Chew your food," his mother admonished him. "And how come your books aren't all packed? Aren't you finished with your homework?"

"Mum!" Draco protested. "Of course I finished! I was just studying, that's all."

"I hardly think you're going to have a quiz on your first day back," she chided gently.

"Oh, I wouldn't bet on that," he drawled. "You know Professor Snape."

Everyone laughed. "Well hurry and finish up," Mrs. Malfoy instructed him. "We need to leave within the hour."

Harry went into the lounge after breakfast and snapped his fingers. Quick as a flash, an elf appeared. "Bring down my school trunk," he told it. "Make sure you don't break anything inside."

The elf bowed low. "Yes, sir. Dobby will bring down the trunk, sir. Dobby will not jostle or bounce or shake Harry Potter's trunk, sir." With a loud crack, it vanished.

Harry waited. And he waited. And he waited some more. Where the devil was that dratted elf with his trunk? Just as he was about to leave and go bring the trunk down himself, the elf appeared with an ear-splitting bang. It had the trunk with it.

"What took you so long?" Harry snapped.

The elf quavered. "Dobby is sorry, sir. Dobby had a bad thought and had to punish himself, sir." Actually, the elf did look a little dizzy. However he'd punished himself, he'd done a good job, apparently.

"Begone, Dobby, or you'll find out whether there is or isn't a God." Harry recognized Mr. Malfoy's voice and turned around to see him standing there. The elf vanished without a further word. "Was he giving you trouble, Harry?"

"A bit," Harry admitted. "What did he mean he had to punish himself?"

"A house elf is very attached to the family it serves," Mr. Malfoy said, sounding as though he were beginning a lecture. "When it commits an act that it knows will displease or anger its family, an elf feels compelled to punish itself."

"Even if it was an accident?" Harry asked.

"Even if," Mr. Malfoy confirmed. "A deed done by accident is still done, is it not? You didn't intend to swallow the Snitch, but you still won the match, correct?"

Harry instantly flashed back to his first Quidditch match at Hogwarts. Though he hadn't intended to catch the Snitch in quite that fashion, he had indeed caught it. The technicalities of it didn't lessen the conclusion one bit.

"Yes, I suppose so," he said slowly.

"Most often the self-punishment involves bashing its head against the wall," Mr. Malfoy continued. "They have very hard heads, elves, so they repeat a few times. Then, punishment enacted, they continue on with their tasks."

"One thing to remember," he added. "Never ever give a house elf an article of clothing. Always drop it on the floor. If you ever give an elf clothes, it severs the magical connection between elf and family. There are elves who have killed themselves rather than be subjected to the ultimate humiliation of clothes."

"What?" Harry was startled.

"Elves are very attached to their families," Mr. Malfoy repeated. "The giving of clothes is the ultimate punishment. An elf will gladly endure any other punishment you inflict upon it, even punish itself further, to avoid being given clothes."

"Of course that's all academic," Draco observed from the doorway. "You couldn't free any of our elves, for instance. Only once you have your own place and elves that belong to you."

The notion of owning another living being was anathema to Harry. His face must have reflected his feelings, because Mr. Malfoy patted his shoulder.

"I know exactly what you're thinking, Harry. People don't own each other. But you must remember that elves are not people. Owning an elf is very similar to owning a dog or an owl. They are living creatures, are they not? They think; they communicate. They are simpler creatures than we."

"But isn't slavery, well, wrong?" Harry felt a bit bold in asking this, but he felt comfortable enough with the Malfoys to speak his mind.

Mr. Malfoy looked intently at him. He snapped his fingers, and an elf appeared. "Yes, master?" it asked, bowing.

"Nibby, the time has come for you to have clothes," he said simply.

Nothing could have prepared Harry for what happened next. The elf let out a keening wail so intense, Harry had to clap his hands to his ears. Nibby burst into tears, crying and shrieking and carrying on. He threw himself at Mr. Malfoy's feet and begged for mercy, for forgiveness, and for death.

"Death, master!" he wept. "Death, not disgrace!"

Harry was considerably taken aback. They'd told him that elves lived to serve, but he hadn't truly believed them. Now he knew it was truth.

"Mister Malfoy, please make it stop!" he shouted over the wailing.

Mr. Malfoy smiled. "Very well, Nibby," he said, not looking down at the elf. "Return to your duties."

Nibby kissed his master's shoes several times. Then it disappeared without even getting up off the floor.

"You see, Harry?" Mr. Malfoy asked.

"I see," Harry said. His ears were still ringing.

"If your little demonstration is _quite_ over," Mrs. Malfoy said as she came into the room, "we have places to be. Where's Elan?"

"I'm here." The former Hogwarts prefect looked quite splendid, if sullen, in his new red school robes.

"Good, we're all set then." Mr. Malfoy looked pleased. "Children, say your good-byes."

Draco hugged his older brother. "I'm going to miss you," he said, his voice muffled in Elan's shoulder.

Elan hugged his younger brother just as tightly. "I won't be there to look out for you anymore," he said in a choked voice. "So stay out of trouble, you hear me?"

"I will."

Draco hugged and kissed his mother. Mrs. Malfoy wiped away a tear. "Promise me you'll be careful," she asked.

"I promise."

Draco hugged his father. "You are a Malfoy," the man reminded him. "Never forget that."

"I won't."

Harry shook Elan's hand firmly. "Good luck," he said sincerely.

Elan nodded gravely. "Thank you, Harry. Stay safe this year, okay?"

"I'll try."

Mrs. Malfoy almost squeezed the breath from his body. "Harry, it's been a delight having you this summer. Do come back again. Our home is always open to you."

Harry's eyes started to water. More than anything he'd wanted a place to call home. Now it was being offered on a silver platter.

"Thank you," he choked out.

Mr. Malfoy offered his hand. "Harry, good luck to you this year. If you have need of anything, don't hesitate to write."

"Thank you, sir."

Draco held out the tin of Floo powder to him. His friend threw his own pinch into the fireplace and called out, "Puddlemucker's!" Stepping into the green flames, he vanished with a puff of smoke.

"You have the place? It's Puddlemucker's. It's a sweet shop only a block from the station. You remember about Floo?"

"Keep my eyes and mouth shut, my elbows tucked, wait until I stop spinning," Harry rattled off.

"Good. Any time you're ready," Mr. Malfoy told him.

"Puddlemucker's!"

"Easy now, Harry, you made it." Draco's voice made Harry open his eyes. This was the third time he'd travelled by Floo, and he still wanted to throw up. He let Draco lead him out of the fireplace, dragging his trunk behind him. The wheels that Mr. Malfoy had added to the trunk made this task infinitely easier.

"Urp!" he said, feeling his stomach lurch. He closed his eyes again.

"Deep breaths now, come on."

Someone thrust a glass into his hand. He drank and tasted cold water. His stomach stopped churning. He felt well enough to open his eyes.

Draco was peering at him intently. "How many fingers am I holding up?" he asked.

"Three," Harry said.

"Close enough," Draco teased him.

They were in a little sweet shop, just as it had been described to him. There were only two racks of sweets. The walls were blank. It looked like they were still in the process of setting up - or taking down. A large fireplace dominated the rear wall.

"One Galleon, Mister Malfoy," a wizard standing behind the counter said. Draco pulled a coin out of his pocket and flipped it to the attendant.

"Come along, Harry. Plenty of other people will be coming through." Harry allowed himself to be ushered out the door. He blinked a bit in the sunlight.

"This way to the station," Draco told him. As they walked down the street, Harry was a bit spooked by being out in Muggle London again. Nobody recognized him, seeing only a pair of boys pulling school trunks towards the station. They hadn't carried their owl cages with them out in public. Mrs. Malfoy would be sending the birds up to Hogwarts tonight.

The station was busy with people going here, people going there. Muggles rushed every which way without a glance at anyone else. The two boys pushed their way through the crowd to the solid divider between platforms nine and ten.

Harry had caught the Hogwarts Express the previous September. It didn't leave from any normal platform. The train to school left from platform nine and three-quarters, a magical place only accessible by passing through the barrier. It was a trick that Harry had been told by the motherly Mrs. Weasley.

"Nobody's watching," Draco said, looking around. "You first."

Harry took a deep breath and ran at the bricks. Two steps away, he closed his eyes tightly. Magic was all well and good, but the human brain has difficulty accepting that you are running full speed at a brick wall. He didn't even notice when he pierced the barrier. When he had taken several more steps, he opened his eyes and saw the bright and shining train.

Draco appeared behind him a moment later. "Good show," he said. "Let's find the others."

The platform was a chaotic mob of children, parents, pets, and luggage. The two boys lugged their trunks to midway down the length of the train before someone snuck up behind Harry and covered his mouth. Startled, he turned to see Pansy standing there. Motioning him to keep silent, she crept up behind Draco and grabbed at his middle.

"Ah!" he yelled in surprise, dropping his trunk. The edge came down on Pansy's foot, and she shrieked loudly in pain. She let go of Draco and clutched at her smashed toes.

"You bastard, you did that on purpose!" she howled at him.

"Absurd!" Draco denied, picking up his trunk again. "It's your own fault for trying to assault me."

"Oh, I'll assault you," Pansy promised darkly, glaring darkly in Draco's direction. "Never fear of that."

"Are you the only one here?" Harry asked, trying to distract her. People were looking in their direction, probably wondering what all the yelling was about.

"Hullo, Harry. Yes, I'm all by myself. I _was_ happy to see you both, but now _you_ are welcome to join me."

"Oh hush," Draco dismissed her complaining. "You know I'm the centre of your existence."

Pansy didn't dignify that little jab with any response. She limped onto the train and to a compartment she had claimed. Harry and Draco stacked their trunks inside and took seats. Pansy sat down next to Draco and promptly shoved him over a bit.

"Hey!" he protested.

"So how was the trip?" Pansy asked Harry, ignoring Draco and his complaining.

"Sickening," he said truthfully. "I wanted to throw up."

"I've never liked Floo that much either," she told him sympathetically. "Someone needs to come up with a better spell that won't make you dizzy."

"Probably Tim," Harry laughed. "He's brilliant."

Pansy made a face. "That fool actually _likes_ travelling by Floo."

"Ugh, how could anyone _like_ it?" Harry asked, feeling sick.

"_Here_ you are!" exclaimed Jenna, dropping her trunk with a thud. She grabbed Harry's hand. "Good to see you!" She grabbed Draco's hand. "Good to see you!"

"Jenna, are you hyper?" Pansy asked.

"Hi Pansy!" Jenna grabbed her hand as well. "_Good_ to see you!"

"Jenna, what's the matter with you?" Harry asked. His snarky friend was speaking very quickly and zipping around a bit.

"I'm _happy!_" she exclaimed, bouncing in place. "September is finally here, and we can learn more about magic!"

"I think she just had too much sugar this morning," Tim observed, dragging his trunk into the compartment.

"Tim! Good to see you!"

"Hi Jenna," he said, giving her a quick hug. "Did you sneak a cup of coffee this morning?"

"No," she denied instantly. "Well, yes, but only a small one."

"And how many times did you refill it?" he teased her. "Must have been a dozen or so."

"Only three!" Jenna defended.

"Oh dear," he sighed. He looked at Harry. "Jenna likes to have a cup of coffee on occasion, but she really doesn't deal with the caffeine very well, you see. She also _really_ likes the taste of coffee, so she goes overboard when she does have it. The result is what you see before you: a hyperactive Bludger pretending to be a girl."

Jenna giggled and threw herself into his arms. "You're so nice, Timmy," she said, making cute faces at him.

Tim rolled his eyes. "Don't call me Timmy," he sighed.

Blaise arrived next, then Crabbe, Millie, and Goyle. The now second year Slytherins were split into two compartments, and they wandered from one to the other freely. As the train whistle blew, Harry felt excitement clench his heart. He was finally going back to Hogwarts!

His friends had grown taller over the summer. Draco was now equal to Harry's height. Tim had always stood an inch or so above them both. Crabbe and Goyle were as big as ever, standing half a head over Tim. Millie had grown right along with the boys, standing just below Harry.

Blaise hadn't gotten much taller, nor had Pansy, but she was sporting a new hairstyle that made her seem taller. Pansy's braids were twined together and tucked up at the back of her head because of the summer heat. Jenna was bouncing around so much that Harry couldn't tell how tall she was.

There was a bit to catch up on, as they hadn't seen each other in a week and a half. They made small talk and played card games until the old witch with the sweets cart came along.

"Anything off the cart, dears?" she asked kindly.

"I'll take a copy of the Prophet," Tim said, handing the witch a few Knuts. He sat back and opened it up. The other Slytherins liberally raided the cart for Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans, Pumpkin Pasties, Cauldron Cakes, and Sugar Quills.

"Don't forget the Chocolate Frogs," Harry said, taking a stack for himself. Hopefully there would be some new cards he could find.

"Wow, Draco, your dad's really got a vendetta against Weasley's father, doesn't he?" Tim said, his head buried in the newspaper.

"Huh?" Draco asked, confused. They'd been talking about Quidditch.

"Talking about disbanding the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office?" Tim looked up and saw a bunch of blank faces. He rolled his eyes. "Oh _honestly_, don't any of you read?" He folded back the paper and thrust it out at them.

"Your father and Millie's father, along with several other people in the government, have proposed massive changes to the Ministry's budget. Mister Malfoy wants to downsize the government, eliminate waste, and use the savings to pay for his new program."

"What new program?" Millie asked.

Tim looked up to the sky and shook his head. "The program under the proposed new law that would remove Mudblood children from the Muggle world and bring them into ours after they are born."

"What?" Draco asked, reaching for the paper.

"Do you mean to tell me that _neither_ of you knows about the Harry Potter Magical Child Protection Act?" Tim questioned.

"The _what_?" Harry demanded, thunderstruck.

"It's a proposed law that would make it illegal for any magical child to live with Muggles. Draco's father has been talking it up all week. He was asked how he planned to pay for it, and _this_," Tim tapped the paper, "is his answer."

"_Any_ magical child?" Harry asked intently.

"Any," Tim confirmed. "The Act would sanction the removal of all magical children and authorize Memory Charms to remove all trace of the child's existence in the Muggle world."

"'No magical child should have to grow up around those who hate and fear magic', Lucius Malfoy said yesterday," Draco read. "'There is a fundamental wrongness involved in leaving these innocent children to be neglected, starved, punished, confined, and otherwise actively abused because parents do not understand that their children are different.'"

"Blimey," Harry breathed. That hit very close to what he himself had gone through while growing up in the Dursley home.

"But why name the law after Harry?" Pansy asked confusedly.

"Because of the interview," Millie answered. "There's no other way. Mister Malfoy wouldn't reveal the sorts of things that Harry went through unless Harry had already done it himself. Right, Harry?"

"It must be," Harry said, feeling slightly dazed. They were naming laws after him now? He felt a little weird about that. Okay, a lot weird. But if helped to keep any child from growing up with Muggles as awful as the Dursleys, Harry supposed he could get over it.

"If they're going to eliminate the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office, that means Weasley's dad is going to be out of a job," Tim told them. "What a delight. Perhaps they won't be able to continue at Hogwarts."

"Let's go see how he's handling the news, shall we?" Draco said, handing the paper back to Tim and getting to his feet.

"I'm game," Harry agreed.

"Sounds like fun," Jenna said, bounding to her feet.

Pansy grabbed a handful of the girl's shirt. "Oh no, missy, you're staying here where we can keep an eye on you. The last thing we need is for you to bounce up to Weasley and tell him it's good to see him."

"If she wants to go, let her go, Pansy," Tim said scathingly.

"Don't tell me what to do, Nott," she retorted.

"So you can tell Jenna that she can't go, but I can't tell you what not to do?"

"Exactly."

Draco and Harry ducked out of the compartment as Tim threw a cauldron cake at Pansy. They could hear the ensuing chaos through the closed door.

"Oi, Draco!" They turned to see Terry Boot walking towards them.

"Hullo, Terry," Draco replied. "How was your summer?"

"Fairly boring," Terry confided to them. "Hallo, Harry."

"Hello."

"Seen the paper this morning?" Terry asked, holding up a copy.

Draco smirked. "We were just off to find Weasley and tell him all about it. Any idea where he can be found?"

Terry nodded. "He's about two cars down or so. Mind if I tag along?"

"Not at all," Draco said. "Should be a bit of fun."

"Capital," Terry said cheerfully. "This way then."

Terry led them into another car, down the corridor, and into another car. About a third of the way down he stopped and peered through the keyhole. "Yes, this is the one."

Draco knocked importantly on the compartment door and opened it without waiting for a response. "Good morning, Weasley," he said brightly.

"Malfoy," Weasley said with venom. "What are _you_ doing here?"

"Paying a visit," Draco said pompously. "Checking after your health. That sort of thing."

"I'm fine, now bugger off."

"Your manners are really abysmal, Weasley," Draco chided him. "I was just trying to be polite. I wonder what's to become of you now that your father's lost his job."

"What are you babbling about, Malfoy?" Weasley asked.

"You mean you didn't know? Well, I guess your father must not want to worry you all. I suppose I ought to tell you, then. With the new budget that's been proposed, your father's office is going to be eliminated. I don't know where they'll move him to, but my guess is the Centaur Liaison Office."

"You're lying!" Weasley exclaimed.

Draco smiled. "I have no need to lie, Weasley, not when the truth is so much more effective."

Terry held out his copy of the newspaper. Weasley took it, nodding his thanks at Terry. He read through the story, seeming to take forever about it.

Weasley's sister, Ginny, Harry dimly remembered, was curled up in a seat with a book. She had a quill out and was scribbling furiously.

"What's this then?" Draco asked, snatching the book out of her hand. "The diary of T.M. Riddle." He flipped the pages. "Evidently he's a chap without much to say. These pages are mostly empty."

"Give it back!" Ginny yelled at them.

"Second-hand diary, and it's probably the newest thing she owns, Harry."

"Give it back to her, Malfoy!" Weasley ordered him, looking up from the newspaper.

Draco held it above her head. "Does the ickle firstie want her diary back?" he taunted her.

Ginny kicked him in the shin. Draco yelped and dropped the diary. She caught it neatly and resumed her seat, sitting on the book and glaring at the Slytherins.

"Leave my sister alone, Malfoy!"

"Shut it, Weasley," Draco drawled. "Haven't you finished reading that article yet?"

Weasley flushed. "I finished reading it," he said hotly.

"Good. So what will Arthur be doing with his early retirement?" Draco asked, checking his nails for dirt.

"Get out of here, Malfoy!" Weasley shouted. His hands were clenched into fists.

"Your shouting is giving me a headache," Draco said, putting one hand to his temple. "I'm going to leave now." He stepped back into the corridor. Harry and Terry went with him.

"Oh, by the way, Weasley, if your mother is ever looking for a job, which she may be now that your father is soon to be out of work, tell her we'd be happy to hire her up at the manor. I had some of that pot roast she sent to Harry a few weeks ago, and she really is an excellent cook."

Harry slammed the door in Weasley's face as he lunged for Draco's throat. They could hear his little sister struggling to keep the git from coming out after them all. Draco laughed loudly and sauntered back up the train towards their friends.

to be continued...


	7. Coming Home

**They Shook Hands**

An alternate (but realistic!) universe Harry Potter fic  
by Dethryl

**Chapter Seven - Coming Home**

"Wotcher, Slytherins!" Terry Boot had accepted an invitation to visit. Amazingly enough, it seemed that Tim and Pansy had stopped bickering, for they had been unable to hear any heated words from the hall.

"Wotcher, Ravenclaw," Tim responded, looking up from the _Prophet_. "How are you?"

"Terry!" Jenna cried with delight, bounding to her feet, and hugging the startled boy. "Good to see you!"

"Hi, Jenna." Terry hesitantly hugged her back. He sounded confused and looked askance at the rest of them. "Did someone hit her with a Cheering Charm? Isn't that third-year magic?"

"No such mystical explanation, just a bit too much coffee this morning," Blaise told him, laughing. She grabbed onto Jenna's blouse and tugged the girl to her seat. "Sit _down!_"

"So how did he take the news?" Pansy asked eagerly. She loathed Weasley and talked of him in such terms that Harry had only ever heard her use to talk about Tim, though he knew that she really meant it when describing Weasley.

"Badly," Draco said with satisfaction evident in his voice. "Blighter had nary a clue."

"Excellent," Pansy said quietly with a satisfied smirk.

"Tim, you're the only one here who reads. What do you think of the Act?" Terry asked, sitting down. Harry moved closer to hear better.

"Hey, I read!" Blaise protested.

"Yeah, but only dictionaries," Draco chuckled.

"Prat," Blaise sniffed.

"It will probably pass," Tim said, answering Terry's question and ignoring the others. "Any scheme that says it will save Galleons usually does. There won't be any huge savings made by cutting those offices and their budgets, but the reorganization of the power structure will definitely reduce costs."

"So they've closed the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office. What other offices have been closed?" Harry asked curiously.

"They haven't been closed yet," Tim reminded them all. "It's still only a proposed budget and reorganization bill. It needs to go through committee, and then the Minister still needs to sign it into law."

"That's not the point, you great pillock," Pansy sneered at him.

Tim glared at Pansy. "They're also putting the axe to the Committee for the Disposal for Dangerous Creatures and the Committee on Experimental Charms."

"What's that?" Harry asked.

"It's an office run by wizards who like to give themselves horns," Draco snickered. "And bat wings."

"Any wizard who creates a new Charm is obliged to register with the Committee and tell them exactly what the magic is supposed to do," Terry said, shaking his head. "The very idea of all new magic having to be approved by the government is stupid to begin with," he said critically. "They're fools if they think even one wizard in ten obeys that law."

"Of course," Tim said. "Which is probably why they'd like to close it. They know it serves no real function other than to provide several persons related to the Minister with a job."

"And the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office is just as useless," Draco chimed in. "If a wizard wants a flying carpet, I don't see why he shouldn't have one."

"Flying carpets are real?" Harry said incredulously. "I thought those were just a part of some Muggle fairy tales."

Tim nodded. "They're real enough, but carpets are considered to be Muggle-ish, so the law says no enchanting. As if Muggles are the only ones who use carpets!"

"We've got a flying carpet," Draco bragged. "Father keeps it in storage most of the time, but on the first night of holiday he brought me out for a flight."

"You're lucky you weren't seen," Blaise told him.

"Actually, we did get seen once," Draco admitted. "We heard a shout from the ground, and Father had to go put a Memory Charm on a Muggle."

"Just a Memory Charm?" Pansy said with disappointment.

Tim patted her on the head. "Poor ickle Pansy. No stories of bloodshed for you today."

Pansy snarled and pushed his hand away. Terry stood up and said his goodbyes, promising to come say hello at the feast. Harry looked out the window. The open pastures were beginning to give way to trees and forests. They must be nearly at Hogwarts.

"Shouldn't we change into our robes?" he suggested. He felt his face start to burn as Pansy started unbuttoning her shirt. Grabbing his school uniform, he fled to the next compartment. Crabbe and Goyle were sitting there, talking with Millie.

"Harry!" Goyle said. "Excellent, now we have a fourth for Exploding Snap."

Harry held up his robes. "Just here to change, really," he said. The two other boys chuckled. Millie ruffled Harry's hair as she left the compartment to give him some privacy.

After putting on his robes, the visible symbol of his status as a wizard, Harry felt very good indeed. Anything that distanced him from the Muggles and the cruel world they lived in was good. He joined his friends for a few hands of Exploding Snap once he was dressed, and they were just about to start a new game when the door slid open.

"There you are, Potter!" exclaimed Marcus Flint, captain of the house Quidditch team.

"Hullo, Flint," Harry greeted him. "How was your holiday?"

"Stressful!" Flint told him directly. "I almost had a heart attack when I saw that my Seeker had got himself kidnapped."

"I was never kidnapped!" Harry said sharply.

"I know, I know," Flint said, waving his hand. "I saw the interview, but still!"

"Sorry," Harry said sheepishly.

"I'm better now," Flint told him. "I threw myself into devising new strategies for this season. Hey, you two!"

Crabbe looked up. "Me?"

"Us?" echoed Goyle.

"Yeah," Flint said, giving them a critical eye. "Have you ever thought of going out for the Quidditch team?"

"Me?"

"Us?"

Leaving Flint to try to recruit his big friends, Harry was about to return to the other compartment when he saw Jessica Conejo, a Spanish girl who was one of Slytherin's prefects and now a seventh year student. He'd always liked Jessica, with her easy way of smiling and her friendly, open manner.

"Harry!" she exclaimed, giving him a kiss on the forehead. "You look well for a kidnapped person."

Harry stared at her chest. The silver prefect's badge always pinned to her robes was gone. In its place was a gold badge reading 'Head Girl'. Harry sucked in a deep breath. "Congratulations, Jessica," he told her sincerely.

She blushed. "Oh, can you believe it?" she asked. "I'm still in shock. Abraham was elected Head Boy, did you hear?"

"No!"

"Yes," she said, beaming. That was more good news. Last year, the two Slytherin prefects had done their best to look out for Harry and his friends. They'd escorted the firsties around the castle, not letting them get lost, and had regularly checked in with them and helped out with homework. They fully deserved the honour.

A hidden speaker crackled to life, announcing, "The Hogwarts Express will be arriving at Hogsmeade station in one minute. Please gather all your belongings and prepare to deboard the train. Please do not attempt to leave the train until instructed. Please leave your school trunks; they will be taken up to the castle separately."

"Oops," Jessica said. "I need to go to work."

"Bye!" Harry hugged his prefect.

The train came to life suddenly, as all the students began hustling about, returning to their own compartments, picking up belongings, pets, and younger siblings. Harry saw several older students keeping close tabs on smaller versions of themselves. Millie had a younger brother who was starting Hogwarts this year, Harry remembered, named Arthur or Arsenic or something. He fell in step with her and asked where the younger Bulstrode was.

Millie rolled her eyes. "Arcen is with his 'tally' friends, as opposed to his very 'untally' sister and her weird friends."

"I wouldn't say we're weird," Pansy protested.

"I agree," Tim said. "Only Pansy is weird."

"Wanker."

"What does tally mean?" Blaise asked curiously.

"I have no idea," Millie told her.

When the train finally shuddered to a stop, there was a great scramble to get outside. Owls hooted, cats meowed, and Longbottom's pet toad could be heard croaking loudly from under the chubby boy's hat. The evening air was chilly, and Harry pulled his cloak shut against the night.

"Firs' years this way!" The bellowing voice could only have belonged to Hagrid, the gigantic, oafish gamekeeper. Harry tried to duck out of sight, but was not quick enough to escape notice.

"All righ', Harry?" he boomed.

Harry waved for a second, then turned and followed the rest of the school as the first year students gathered around Hagrid in preparation for the traditional journey across the lake. They made their way down off the platform and onto a rough, muddy road where at least a hundred stagecoaches awaited them. When they had climbed inside and shut the door, the coach set off all by itself, bumping and swaying in procession without benefit of a horse to pull it!

As the carriage trundled toward a pair of magnificent wrought iron gates, flanked with stone columns topped with winged boars, Harry was once again impressed with the sheer majesty of the Hogwarts castle. The carriage picked up speed on the long, sloping drive up to the castle. Looking out the tiny windows, they could see the many turrets and towers draw nearer. At last, the carriage swayed to a halt, and Harry hurried to get a breath of air that didn't stink of mould and straw.

The students trundled up the stone steps that led up to the front doors of the castle. Heavy, giant, oak; the doors opened up into the cavernous entrance hall, lit with flaming torches. The magnificent marble staircase rose into the air, leading the way to the upper floors.

Harry followed the swarm into the Great Hall. It was its usual splendid self, decorated for the start-of-term feast. Golden plates and goblets gleamed by the light of hundreds and hundreds of candles, floating over the tables in mid-air. The sky above, seen via the enchanted ceiling of the Hall, was clear and bright. Stars twinkled merrily in the black dome of the night. The four long House tables were slowly being filled by the arriving students. At the top of the Hall, the staff sat along one side of a fifth table, facing their pupils.

At the end of the table, next to the very large empty chair that belonged to Hagrid, sat Professor Kettleburn, instructor for Care of Magical Creatures. Fresh bandages were wrapped around his hands. Tiny little Professor Flitwick, the instructor for Charms and Head of Ravenclaw House, was sitting on a large pile of cushions beside Professor Sprout, the Herbology teacher and Head of Hufflepuff House, whose hat was askew over her flyaway grey hair. Professor Sinistra, the Astronomy witch, was looking bright-eyed and perky. As a confessed night owl, she had probably been awake for only a few hours. Next to her, Professor Snape, Head of Slytherin House and Potions Master, sat looking profoundly unhappy. His black hair was slicked back, emphasizing his piercing eyes and hooked nose. Snape had an empty chair next to him, presumably belonging to Professor McGonagall, Transfiguration Mistress and Head of Gryffindor House.

In the centre of the table sat Professor Dumbledore, the headmaster, his silver hair and beard shining in the candlelight. His eyes watched them all from behind half-moon spectacles. The blue robes he wore were decorated with stars and moons. Further on sat Professor Vector, the witch who taught Arithmancy, Professor Babbling, the witch who taught Ancient Runes, and Professor Burbage, the witch who taught Muggle Studies. Those were all subjects older students could take. In the Spring, they would have to pick two additional classes to take in their third year.

Professor Lockhart sat there with his perfectly waved blond hair, his perfectly white smile, and his perfectly ugly aquamarine robes and pointed hat. Harry turned his head to avoid making eye contact.

The rest of the staff sat along the table: Madam Pomfrey, the nurse; Madam Pince, the librarian; and Madam Hooch, the Quidditch instructor. Mr. Filch would be waiting around to mop the floor after the first years came through making a mess.

Harry exchanged many greetings as his fellow Slytherins came by to say hello. The rest of the Quidditch team, Bletchley, Bole, Derrick, Pucey, and Montague, all came by to offer salutations. Jamie Zabini, looking a bit mopey, forced a smile when she saw him.

He tried to ignore his stomach, which was requesting to be filled. He jumped a bit as he heard a roll of thunder, but he looked up to see that the sky was bright and clear.

"Sorry," Crabbe whispered. "I'm hungry."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Fathead," was all he said.

A side door opened at that moment, and Hagrid took his seat at the table. Professor Dumbledore nodded in satisfaction.

"Ah, Hagrid. I trust the first year students are ready outside?" he asked genially.

"Yessir, Professor Dumbledore!" Hagrid answered.

"Excellent."

The doors to the Great Hall opened, and Professor McGonagall led the pack of first years inside. The long line of starry-eyed children looked anxious, nervous, and excited as they walked up to the front and stood before the High Table. Professor McGonagall brought over the Hogwarts Sorting Hat and the four-legged stool upon which it sat. Dirty, tattered, frayed, and patched, the Hat decided which House a student would belong to. It also directed the Hogwarts School Choir. The whole Hall watched eagerly, waiting for the Hat as a tear opened up, and it began to sing.

_ I am the Hogwarts Sorting Hat,  
And I can read your mind,  
So plunk me down upon your head,  
And let's see what we find!  
There is no cat around, you see,  
Who must've dragged me in.  
Though I'm not much to look at,  
I will tell you where I've been.  
A thousand years or more ago,  
The Founders ran this school.  
They picked their chosen special ones,  
It was their own home rule.  
They knew they'd leave, eventually,  
And so they made this plan.  
Take a hat and cast a spell,  
So I could pick the clan!  
To Gryffindor, the lions home,  
Filled with stout of heart,  
Go those who aren't afraid at all,  
To lose some body parts!  
The Ravenclaws, the bookish birds,  
They always have a tome,  
Of complex spells and obscure facts,  
The library is home!  
In Hufflepuff, the badgers true,  
To those that they hold dear,  
They always act with honour, like,  
A true chevalier!  
Crafty, clever, driven,  
Are the serpents, Slytherin,  
No one can ever challenge,  
That they have strong ambition!  
Each House is quite outstanding,  
Each with honoured legacy,  
You're heirs to greatness, never minding  
Where you soon will be!  
So step right up and try me on,  
I know you won't regret,  
It's my job to Sort you all,  
Amongst the House quartet. _

The entire Hall burst into applause. Professor McGonagall took out a scroll and unrolled it. "One by one, you will be called up to be Sorted. You will place the Sorting Hat on your head and sit on the stool. When the Hat announces your House, you will join your Housemates at the appropriate table."

"Arcen Bulstrode!"

The younger Bulstrode looked a lot like his older sister. He was a bit husky, with plain brown hair. He didn't seem at all nervous as he put the Hat on his head and sat down. After only a few seconds, the tear in the Hat opened up and cried out, "SLYTHERIN!"

Millie led the cheering as Arcen made his way to the Slytherin table. He sat down and grinned at all those who congratulated him.

"Colin Creevey!"

"Already with the Mudblood trash?" Pansy whispered.

"Apparently so," Blaise whispered back.

"How do you know he's a Mudblood?" Harry asked quietly.

"Just look at him," Pansy said. "Scared out of his little mind, he is."

A very small, mousy-haired boy stepped forward. Nervously, he picked up the Hat, pulled it on, and sat down.

"GRYFFINDOR!"

"Vanessa Dipippo!"

"GRYFFINDOR!"

"Nancy Dix!"

"GRYFFINDOR!"

The cheering from the Gryffindor table was riotous as three new students in a row joined them. The Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs looked a bit put out.

"Someone needs to make sure those Gryffindors don't get too uppity," muttered Eleanor Weiss, a seventh year sitting nearby.

"Gerald Driverson!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

As their first new student was announced, the Hufflepuffs exploded with applause. The black-haired boy sat down as Professor McGonagall announced, "Megan Fontaine!" a brown-haired girl with a ponytail who became the first new Ravenclaw.

The Sorting continued without incident through Brooke Gagnon (Gryffindor), Candace Gallagher (Hufflepuff), and Darryl Gauthier (Gryffindor), but when Jeremiah Goodwinter was announced, many of those sitting near Harry suddenly perked up. "What is it?" he asked Draco.

"Goodwinter is one of the old family names," Draco told him. "I didn't realize there were any Goodwinters coming in this year."

"SLYTHERIN!"

"Michelle Holt!"

"SLYTHERIN!"

Cheers rose as the first new girl joined Slytherin's table.

"Charles Ilnicky!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

Wendy Ingram, Judith Kovalsick, and Luna Lovegood became Ravenclaws. Christopher Lewis was deemed a Hufflepuff.

"Omar Mass!"

"SLYTHERIN!"

"That's a new name for me," Tim whispered. "Sounds Spanish."

Draco shrugged. "Good for him."

Ravenclaw and Slytherin continued alternating between Jamie Morello, Sarrah Nolan, Patrick O'Rourke, Shawna Osman, and Westley Overton. The next firstie called was Melissa Padhye, another name that elicited interest. Draco bet Tim a Galleon that she'd be in Ravenclaw, while Tim erroneously believed Slytherin. Draco won the bet as she went to Ravenclaw, followed by Susan Robillard, sorted to Gryffindor. Conrad Rohmann and Gwendolyn Roit became Hufflepuffs, then Myles Sheridan went to Gryffindor, prompting deafening cheers. Draco nudged Harry. "Long tradition with that family."

"Thelma Shilvock!"

"More Mudbloods," Tim hissed at Draco.

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Laine Slater!" McGonagall said. A pretty girl with shoulder-length auburn hair stepped forward. The Hat announced her as a Slytherin.

"Lucas Slater!"

Harry did a double-take. The same girl was walking forward to sit on the stool. He rubbed his eyes and looked again. "Dj vu."

"The Slater twins," Blaise said, nodding. "Boy and girl, though you'd think they were identical. Poor Lucas needs a haircut, but his parents are so anachronistic they won't allow it."

The unfortunate Mr. Slater also was named a Slytherin.

Only three students were left now. Joshua Sunderland was destined for Ravenclaw. When Ginevra Weasley was announced, Draco grumbled and looked away from the little girl who had kicked him on the train. Harry was amused by her name. He'd thought it was Virginia. Eugene Wendell was the last student, and he went to Gryffindor as well.

As Professor McGonagall rolled up her scroll and took the Hat and stool away, Professor Dumbledore got to his feet. He spread his arms wide. "I can see the hunger in your eyes, so please, eat."

The golden plates and platters suddenly filled with food. Harry dug in gratefully. The Sorting was very important, yes, but he was a growing boy. He came very close to stuffing himself to the bursting point. During the feast, Terry Boot and Padma Patil stopped by to say hello. They stayed through afters when the headmaster rose to his feet again.

"Before we retire for the night, I have a few notices to give out. Firstly, welcome to our new instructor of Defence Against the Dark Arts, Gilderoy Lockhart."

Half the Hall started clapping. Harry didn't bother. Lockhart might be a great crusader against the Dark Arts, but he was also a fop who spent too much time on his hair. Up at the High Table, Lockhart was smiling his perfect smile and waving to the students.

"The forest on the school grounds is considered out-of-bounds to all students," Dumbledore continued. "Use of magic in the corridors when passing between classes is frowned upon. Quidditch trials will take place in the second week of term. Anyone interested in earning a place on their house team should see Madam Hooch."

Harry couldn't wait for Quidditch season to start.

"And now, it's time to sing the school song!" Dumbledore said gleefully. He brought out his wand, and a stream of yellow ribbon erupted from the end, forming words in the air. "Everyone pick your favourite tune, and off we go!"

The Hogwarts Choir had prepared for the moment when Dumbledore would initiate the singing. All through dinner they had passed the word around the Hall. In many voices, yet as one, they opened their mouths and sang the school song in cohesion.

_ Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts,  
Teach us something, please,  
Whether we be old and bald  
Or young with scabby knees,  
Our heads could do with filling  
With some interesting stuff,  
For now they're bare and full of air,  
Dead flies and bits of fluff,  
So teach us things worth knowing,  
Bring back what we've forgot,  
Just do your best, we'll do the rest,  
And learn until our brains all rot. _

They drowned out all the other students who were singing, and gradually the choir were the only ones making any music at all. Dumbledore used his wand to conduct, but the choir paid no attention to him. Their only true conductor was the Sorting Hat, who knew music very well. As their song ceased, the clapping was long and gratifying.

"Thank you for that impromptu concert from the Hogwarts School Choir," Dumbledore said, sounding pleased. "Music is a magic more powerful than all we do here. Those who wish to join the choir will find notices posted in their common rooms. And now, a very good night to you all."

Harry and his friends walked out of the Hall and down the stone stairs that led into the dungeons. Harry felt he could have walked the route blindfolded. He had to restrain himself from breaking into a run. Ahead was his safety, his sanctuary, the place where he felt most at home. They stopped in front of a blank stone wall.

"Eloze," Blaise said. She was not magically pulling the password out of thin air; it had been circulated during pudding. The wall slid back, opening the way into Slytherin House.

The common room was a pleasant place, shaped like an elongated rectangle. Polished stone steps led down to the recessed floor, carpeted in a rich green with silver designs. The walls and ceiling were rough-hewn stone. Lamps hung on chains from the ceiling, giving off a cosy greenish light. A fire was crackling cheerfully under an elaborately carved mantelpiece in the centre of the long wall. Beanbag chairs were scattered before the fire grate. Several high-backed chairs surrounded each of the tables that were evenly distributed throughout the room. There were two corridors at the far end of the room. Bookshelves lined the walls.

"Home," Harry sighed happily. He hugged Blaise goodnight, and also Jenna, who was still perky, bouncy, and happy. He followed the blokes to the end of the hall where the bronze nameplate on the door now read 'Second Years'. Inside they found their four-poster beds, dressers, desks, and trunks. It seemed as though nothing had changed over the summer holiday. The moon was bright in the sky, visible through the large picture window.

Well-fed and sleepy, Harry wanted nothing more than to slide between the sheets of his own bed. He yawned a goodnight to his mates, but didn't hear any reply as his head touched the pillow and he was out like a snuffed candle flame.

to be continued... 


	8. Facing The Music

**They Shook Hands**

An alternate (but realistic!) universe Harry Potter fic  
by Dethryl

**Chapter Eight - Facing The Music**

Harry rummaged through his trunk, looking for his homework. In the shuffle the trunk had gone through since he had packed his things away, it had slipped from the place he'd secured it. He had taken out the books he would need for his classes that day, and now he hunted for his summer homework. This was ridiculous; homework didn't _move_. Yet it wasn't in any obvious place. He pulled out his other textbooks, stacking them on the floor beside his trunk.

Draco stuck his head into the room. "Harry? Everyone's waiting for you."

"I can't find my homework," he said, not even looking at his friend.

"Well where did you leave it?" Draco asked, coming over.

"It should be _right here_," Harry burst out with exasperation. He pushed some clothes aside; he hadn't unpacked fully as yet.

"Obviously it's not," Draco noted unhelpfully.

"Obviously," Harry said, rolling his eyes. He did not need Draco's deadpanning right now. "Look, why don't you just go up to breakfast. I've got to keep looking."

"Are you sure?" Draco asked. "I'll help you look."

"No, I can handle it," Harry sighed. "I'll be up when I find it."

"Okay. Just don't be late," Draco advised. "Here, take my schedule. I'll get yours from Abraham. We've got Transfiguration first thing."

"Now I _definitely_ need to find my homework," Harry grumbled. The last thing he wanted to do was face Professor McGonagall without his summer assignment in hand.

Perhaps he should just unpack everything from his trunk. Emptying it would be the most expedient way of finding the folder if it was hiding somewhere. Harry nodded. Yes, that made sense.

He piled all his clothes in a heap on his bed, then he stacked his school books on the floor next to his trunk. His supplies of Potions ingredients were the next to come out, followed by his Astronomy things, his broom care kit, and a package of owl treats for Regal. That was just about everything he owned. With some care, he removed the invisibility cloak that had belonged to his father and hung it in the back of his wardrobe.

His trunk was empty now. His spare quills, ink, and parchment were put away in his desk. The few books he owned had been added to the stack of his school texts. His Gobstones and wizard chess pieces were on top of his dresser. He knew the location of everything he owned, but the folder he had put all of his summer assignments in was gone.

Harry stared down into his empty trunk in disbelief. He had never had anything he owned go missing before. Indeed, he had owned nothing while living with the Dursleys, and Dudley would have freely taken it if he had. Living in Slytherin House, he trusted all of his friends completely and knew that they would never go through his things. None of them would play this sort of joke on him. Thus, he was in a state of shock that something like this had happened.

The curses that began spewing from his mouth would have shocked his friends to the quick. Harry did not normally lose his temper; he was a level-headed boy. But now his hands clenched into fists, his knees began to tremble, and his swearing continued unabated.

He kicked his trunk in a sudden explosion of rage. There was no other place for his homework to be. This was unbelievable, yet it was happening. Angrily, he began tearing through his books, wondering if he might have, not thinking, stuck the folder between the pages. He had not.

There was nothing more he could do here. Harry grimly stuffed his books into his bag and shouldered it. He would just have to go. This was not an auspicious way to start the school year. He was frustrated. He'd worked hard on his homework, and now it was just wasted effort.

He double-checked to make sure his wand was secure in the sheath on his belt. Perhaps he would run into Weasley. In his foul mood, Harry would happily hex the smarmy, Gryffindor twit and not even think twice about it.

Despondently, he left his room and passed through the stone wall that was the entrance to Slytherin House. He shuffled his feet, walking slowly, trying to figure out what he was going to tell Professor McGonagall. Her stern, imposing gaze would see right through any feeble excuse he offered. Perhaps the truth, as strange as it was, would be the best option.

As he approached the Great Hall, the doors opened up and students began to depart. Wonderful. He'd missed breakfast. He went to go find his friends, who were just finishing up.

"Any luck?" Draco asked sympathetically.

"None," Harry sighed, snagging an apple.

"Is that for breakfast, or are you hoping that kissing up to old McGonagall will save you a dressing down?" Tim asked slyly.

"I don't think _anything_ can save me from that," Harry said, crunching into the fruit. "I'm resigned to it."

"You'll find it in a week or so, after you've redone all the assignments," Blaise told him, squeezing his hand. "It's the nature of things. I once lost my favourite book and only found it once my parents had got me another copy."

"And where did you find your belovéd dictionary?" Jenna asked.

"_You_ are not supposed to be having coffee," Blaise retorted, removing the near-full cup from her hands.

"Awww," Jenna sighed, highly disappointed.

Harry grinned momentarily despite himself. "Well, time to go face the music," he said lightly, despite the sinking feeling in his guts.

He was pleased that his memory of the castle hadn't dulled over the summer. Despite his distraction over his missing homework, his feet knew exactly where they were walking. He even remembered to jump over the disappearing step.

Professor McGonagall was not waiting for them when they arrived. Harry had held out a faint hope that he might talk privately with her before the lecture, but that was dashed now. He began mentally preparing himself for the tirade he was certain to hear. At least his friends knew what had happened and wouldn't think any less of him.

"Good morning, Slytherins," Professor McGonagall greeted them as she entered the room. "Please pass your summer assignments forward."

No sense in putting it off. Harry raised his hand. "Professor?"

"Please wait to be called on, Mister Potter. What is it?"

"My essay has gone missing," he told her. "I wrote it, put it in a folder with my other assignments, and when I went to look for it this morning, it was gone."

Just as he had predicted, Professor McGonagall's eyes narrowed, and she looked down at him over her spectacles. "Am I to understand that your Transfiguration assignment somehow vanished of its own accord from your folder, Mister Potter?" Her tone was sceptical.

"No, Professor," he corrected her. "The whole folder has vanished."

She stared down her nose at him some more.

"Harry did his assignment, Professor," Draco interrupted. "I saw it."

"Silence, Mister Malfoy." The old witch pushed her glasses back up the bridge of her nose. "Detention, Mister Potter, this Saturday. I will inform you as to the details later. You will also write your assignment over and turn it in to me no later than the start of our next meeting on Monday. Now then, our subject today is..."

Harry tried his best to pay attention, but inside he was seething. Detention on his first day back. He hated Professor McGonagall in that moment. He hoped Blaise was taking good notes, because his own were hardly legible.

When she began asking questions, Harry raised his hand with his friends, but McGonagall never called on him. Every time he put his hand down, he seethed that much more. Why wouldn't she give him the opportunity to earn some points for Slytherin? Was she deliberately trying to humiliate him?

Perhaps she thought he'd simply slacked off over holiday and was only pretending to know the answer. She was Head of Gryffindor House and had a dim view of Slytherins; this he knew for a fact. If he hadn't done his summer homework, he _wouldn't_ have known any of the answers to her questions. But he did! Tired of being ignored, Harry stopped raising his hand.

When the class mercifully came to an end, he left the room with relief. It was time to retreat to the safety of the dungeons. Potions lecture with Professor Snape, his own Head of House, would brighten his mood.

"Anyone feel like _getting_ Weasley after class?" he asked as they walked.

"Love to," Draco answered immediately. "What for?"

"Fun?" Harry questioned, as though it were obvious.

Tim laughed. "He's turning vicious on us."

"I can't hex old McGonagall, but I can get _some_ satisfaction out of hexing a Gryffindor," Harry said heatedly. "Any of them will do."

"Why not all of them?" Jenna asked. "Why should we show favour?"

"Too right," Pansy agreed. "A mass Tripping Jinx would be perfect. They'd be crashing into each other and into the walls."

"Pansy, I do believe that's the first good idea you've ever had," Tim said admiringly.

"Oh shut up," she told him. "This is important."

When they arrived at the classroom, the students sat in their customary seats, and Harry glared daggers at Weasley as the Gryffindors gradually trickled in. Clumsy Neville Longbottom tripped over his feet as he crossed the threshold, and Draco let loose with a loud guffaw as the other boy crashed to the floor. The rest of the Slytherins joined in a second later, as Parvati Patil helped Longbottom to his feet.

Weasley, Finnigan, and Thomas all gave the Slytherins dirty looks, but before any words could be exchanged, Professor Snape made his entrance as dramatically as ever by slamming the door behind him as he exited his office, and he stood there watching them all with his fingers arched.

"Weasley, where may one find a bezoar?" he asked, his mouth curling into a sneer.

Weasley choked. Harry could have shouted with glee. Professor Snape had asked Weasley that question at the beginning of first year, and again the next week. The boy hadn't known the answer either time and had lost points. From the expression on his face, he still didn't know.

"Sir, I-" he began hesitantly.

"Tell me how it is, Weasley, that a whole year has passed since I first asked you that question and you still do not know the answer," Snape demanded acidly. Harry could hear Draco trying very hard to muffle his laughter in the seat behind him. Blaise, sitting beside him, wasn't doing much better.

Snape wasn't waiting for an answer. "Ten points from Gryffindor, Weasley, and I think a detention is in order. I will notify you." His hard eyes seemed to dare the Gryffindor to protest. "Now then, tomorrow you will all prepare the Moving Picture Potion. If you were diligent in your reading for the summer homework, you should be capable of making the potion at this moment."

His eyes scanned the room. The Potions Master was about to begin asking his famous questions. Harry sat straighter in his seat. After the horrible experience in Transfiguration, he'd be glad to show that he had some brains in his head.

"Mister Potter, what is the base we will use for this potion?" he asked, beginning with the very simple.

"One third vinegar, two thirds water, sir," Harry responded in a clear voice.

"Correct," Snape said. "And the first step of the procedure?"

"Before we even add the vinegar, we must distil the water," Harry replied.

"Excellent. Fifteen points to Slytherin." Snape sounded pleased.

The questions went on for another ten minutes before Snape seemed convinced that they were prepared to attempt brewing the potion. Gryffindor was down fifteen points, while Slytherin had gained nearly sixty. Harry's black mood had completely vanished by the time Snape began lecturing on the properties of yew, the dust of which they would be using in the potion.

When the bell tolled the end of class, Harry quickly put away his things and shouldered his bag. Crabbe and Goyle sat near the front, and they stopped right in front of the door, apparently arguing some small point. In reality, they were blocking the exit, concentrating all the Gryffindors in a group for easier hexing. Harry and his fellow Slytherins held back.

It was Weasley, predictably enough, who grew irritable first and tried to shove his way past the stocky boys. They let him succeed, and the Gryffindors filed into the hall, followed unseen by the Slytherins.

"Bloody horrible," Weasley was complaining to Longbottom. "I made sure to know all about bezoars for the third class last year, but he waits until _now_ to ask me about them again? The man is sick!"

"Wands out," Draco whispered. Each Slytherin took aim at a different Gryffindor.

"Now!" Harry breathed.

"_Lapso Accidere!_" they muttered in unison.

The first jinx hit Lavender Brown. She stumbled into Parvati Patil who crashed into Amy Geagan. A second jinx hit Chrissy Golding, and she fell against Finnigan. Longbottom tripped all on his own and grabbed at Weasley's robes as he fell. The worn and frayed robes made a delightful tearing noise as the fabric split. A jinx hit Weasley at that moment, and he fell to the floor with a crash. Thomas was turning to see what was going on when a jinx hit him, and he flew sideways and smacked off the wall. They all collapsed into one pile of flailing limbs.

Harry laughed until his sides hurt. As the Slytherins made their way out of the dungeons and up to the Great Hall for lunch, Harry admitted that maybe his day wouldn't be quite so bad as all that.

Hurriedly rewriting his Astronomy assignment took up most of his attention, but Harry _was_ able to eat a sandwich while scratching away with his quill. He got on well with Professor Sinistra, but if he didn't give her _something_, she would be very put out with him. He glanced from time to time at Tim's parchment and at Blaise's as well. Harry liked Astronomy and was quite good at it, so he didn't need to copy word for word; he only checked to double-check his facts. If he had needed to seek drastic help, he would turn to Pansy or Crabbe.

"Finished," he said finally, tossing down the quill and reaching for another sandwich.

"Better eat that on the way up," Millie told him. "It's just about that time."

"Bother," Harry complained, taking a large bite and stuffing his things into his bag. The walk up to the Astronomy Tower was long, so their lunch hour was actually closer to forty-five minutes, which could get to be inconvenient.

As they came out onto the battlements, Harry took a deep breath of the warm sunshine. It was a good sign, he felt. Whatever had happened to his homework, the worst of it was over. He could rewrite his other assignments tonight. He might not get much sleep, but on Thursdays, they had no classes before lunch. They had been discussing the great surprise it had been to see the open space in the schedule.

"If Flint makes me get up early on Thursdays, I'm going to go spare," Harry commented. The Quidditch Captain was notoriously fanatic about practices.

The Astronomy classroom was just as Harry remembered it. Professor Sinistra was seated at her desk, but rather than sleepy as she had appeared one year ago, today she appeared to be wide awake. Her black hair had been pulled back to reveal her face.

"Good morning, Slytherins!" she said cheerfully.

"Good morning, Professor Sinistra," they chorused. She stopped in her tracks.

"Now tell me, why did you say good morning when you know perfectly well that it's afternoon?" she asked. "Pansy?"

"Well, I, um, you said good morning," Pansy hedged nervously.

Sinistra smiled in a sardonic way. "No," she shook her head. "Good afternoon," she said deliberately.

"Good afternoon," they repeated.

"Oh dear," Sinistra murmured, taking some notes.

The Slytherins looked at each other uncertainly. This was confusing. Tim raised his hand. "Professor?"

She looked up. "Now then, Astronomy!"

Except for a commotion several floors down, the lecture was very interesting. Loud crashes kept interrupting Professor Sinistra, and she was getting very cross by the time she called an end to the lecture.

"Perhaps when we meet again on Friday, this disturbance will be gone. Dismissed."

Harry was one of the first down the stairs. He was very curious indeed about the source of the noise. Strangely enough, it seemed to be coming from the direction of the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom! Cautiously, the Slytherins inched their way down the corridor.

The scene inside the classroom was one of chaos and destruction. Having seen Dudley throw more than one tantrum, Harry recognized artistry when he saw it. The scene verged more on the lines of a natural disaster. Professor Lockhart was nowhere to be seen, but dozens of electric-blue Cornish pixies were wrecking anything they could get their tiny hands on.

"Help! Potter, help me!" The voice was coming from very high up. Harry peered around until he saw Neville Longbottom clinging to a ceiling beam.

"Look!" he exclaimed, pointing at the trapped Gryffindor.

Tim began to laugh, and soon they were all hysterical. One of the pixies came flying towards the door to get them, but Draco zapped it with a hex Harry didn't hear. The spark of blue light sent the flying creature spiralling to the floor.

"Shouldn't we do something about this?" Harry asked. "Longbottom is trapped up there. We ought to help him."

"We'll tell a prefect," Draco decided. "We're only second year students. We should really just stay out of it. We haven't learned how to deal with pixies yet. We could get hurt."

Harry glanced back over his shoulder, but he followed as his friends meandered to the dungeons via a roundabout route. On the way, every student they met was informed about the Longbottom situation. Most of them hurried off to point and laugh at the Gryffindor.

Without a Defence class to attend, the Slytherins had the rest of the day free. Harry had homework to rewrite, so he reluctantly sat at his desk as the others played games out in the common room. The only sound was his quill scratching over the parchment as he wrote.

In the morning, Harry was the only one in his room who woke early. His friends took advantage of the two free periods they had before lunch to sleep in. Harry hauled himself out of bed and stumbled to the shower. He would go up to breakfast and then finish rewriting his homework once his brain had kicked off sleep entirely.

He was surprised to find Jenna sitting in the common room when he emerged from the dorm. She was sitting near the fire reading a parchment. "Good morning, Jenna," he said brightly.

Jenna yawned. "Morning, Harry. Off for a spot of breakfast, are you?"

"That was the plan," he admitted. "Then it's going to be time to hit the books. What are you doing up so early?"

She looked at him warily. "Can I tell you a secret?"

Harry felt startled. He'd thought it had just been an ordinary question. "Of course," he replied. "What's the big deal?"

Jenna looked around at the empty common room, seeming to check for eavesdroppers. "I'm going to sneak a cup of coffee," she whispered.

Harry muffled a snort of laughter. She was reminding him of a bad Muggle spy movie. "That's all?"

She gave him a mock glare. "Not funny. I love coffee, and I never get to drink it at school. _They_ never let me. So are you going to turn me in?"

Harry felt his guts twist as she asked that question. "Never," he said solemnly. "Let's go up."

So Harry and Jenna sat at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall, sipping coffee and eating scones. Harry had never tasted coffee before, and he found that it was quite enjoyable; strong, but enjoyable. Seeing the other students slowly arriving was sort of fun; Harry found himself chuckling frequently over some of Jenna's more outrageous comments. By far the funniest was her absolute conviction that Professor Lockhart had dressed himself, then woken up and turned on the lights. Harry was still laughing when the professor approached them.

"Good morning, Harry," Lockhart said brightly. "You're an early riser, I see. Good for you."

Harry fought an urge to roll his eyes. Everyone rose this early so they could eat breakfast. "Good morning, Professor," he responded neutrally. Why did this overdressed popinjay have to bother him?

"Good morning, Professor Lockhart!" Jenna greeted him with a perky voice. "We missed you yesterday for class."

Lockhart choked on whatever it was he'd been about to say next. Coughing, he attempted to regain some composure. His face was a bit red, probably from his coughing fit.

"Most unfortunate incident," he said pompously. "Was held up for a few minutes, and apparently one of the students decided to turn loose a cage full of Cornish pixies I'd been planning to use as a demonstration. By the time I was finally able to get to the classroom, most of the excitement was over, I'm afraid."

"That's too bad," Jenna sympathized, still using her sugary-sweet voice. "Well, we'll see you on Tuesday. You'll have to talk doubly fast to catch us up on the materials."

"Indeed, you're right." Lockhart bestowed his gleaming white smile on them. "What a clever girl you are. Ten points for Slytherin."

"Thank you, sir!" she simpered. "Good morning!"

"Good morning." And Lockhart hurried away.

"What an _ass_!" Jenna snorted, sipping from her cup.

"You don't like him?" Harry was surprised. "I thought I was the only one who couldn't stand him."

"I have never met anyone with a bigger ego, and that includes Draco," she sniffed.

Harry noticed two first years standing nearby. He glanced over and saw the Slater twins gaping at him with identical expression of wonderment. Harry smiled at them. "Good morning."

The girl, Laine, made a noise that sounded suspiciously like "Eep!" Her face coloured readily, and she buried her face in her brother's shoulder. The boy, Lucas, shyly waved at Harry.

"Potter, isn't it?" he asked casually, then flushed. "Oh, how stupid of me, of course it is. I'm Slater. I just wanted to say hello. I'm so honoured to meet you."

Jenna was smirking at Harry. He shot her back a dirty look. "The pleasure's all mine, Slater. Nice to meet you, and your sister."

The girl made another "Eep!" Slater nodded his head. "Very good then. See you around."

As the twins went to go sit, Jenna let out the laughter she'd been holding in. Harry put his head in his hands and sighed. His celebrity last year had been bad enough. Now it looked as though a whole new group of students was going to find him absolutely fascinating.

"You're not helping," he said crossly to the chortling Jenna.

"There," Harry said with satisfaction, wiping off his quill pen and setting it down. "All finished."

"And in only a relatively few hours," Tim admired. "I'm impressed."

"Be impressed all you want," Harry replied, "but I'm hungry."

His friends had lazed about in bed until nearly half ten, and then they lounged about in pyjamas for another hour watching Harry finish his homework. When they had offered to help, Harry had refused. He'd gotten into enough trouble by not having his homework ready to turn in. He certainly didn't want to be accused of cheating on it.

His hand was cramping up something fierce. Thankfully the class after lunch was only History of Magic, and he could not bother taking notes there. Surely the soreness would be gone by the time they descended to the dungeons again for double Potions with Gryffindor.

Harry didn't even bother to bring his thick, heavy book for History of Magic. There was no sense in hauling the great thing up and down all those steps when they never referred to it anyway. His bag was light and so was his step as the second year Slytherins emerged from the stone corridors of the basement.

"What is that little twerp doing there?" Millie muttered. She meant her younger brother, who was standing at the entrance to the Great Hall with a smaller boy, who had mousy brown hair and clutched an old-fashioned camera.

"There he is," Arcen said to the boy. "Now if you _don't_ mind, I'm going to eat, Creevey."

"What's going on?" Tim wondered quietly.

"Beats me," Pansy shrugged.

"Let's find out," Draco said, sauntering forward. He stopped directly in front of the boy, who looked petrified by facing down so many Slytherins. "What do you want, Gryffindor?"

The boy's face went pale at Draco's hostility. "M-m-my name is Colin C-creevey," he stuttered. "I w-wanted to meet Harry P-p-potter. P-perhaps have a picture taken to prove I m-met him."

Harry groaned inwardly and looked up at the ceiling. _Why me?_ he demanded silently.

Draco was giving Creevey a withering look. "Absolutely out of the question," he said derisively.

Creevey's face fell. "But-but, I just-"

Tim decided to speak up. "Are you deaf? Or stupid? We just told you that it's out of the question. Now get lost, or we'll find some quiet place to dispose of your body, Mudblood."

"What does that word mean?" Creevey asked in a very subdued tone of voice.

"Goyle, be a dear and take this piece of trash to an empty classroom and show him exactly what it means, will you please?" Pansy interjected.

Goyle grinned. "Sure, Pansy." The boy grabbed onto Creevey's robes, clapped a hand over his mouth, and dragged him off.

"What's he going to do to him?" Harry asked anxiously. He could do without getting into more trouble so soon in the year.

"Oh, nothing permanent," Crabbe assured him. "Goyle will just rough him up a bit, inform him that Harry Potter does not take kindly to strangers gawping at him, and suggest that he keep his distance in the future."

Jenna giggled. "Crabbe, I do believe that's the single longest statement I've ever heard you make."

"I'm the strong and silent type," he countered.

"Not at night, you're not," Tim laughed, and they all had a good chuckle.

"Potter, I'd like a word with you." That was Professor McGonagall; he'd recognize her stern voice anywhere. He put on a pleasant face.

"Good day, Professor," he said politely. He looked over at his friends and nodded, indicating that they should go on without him.

"I have here the details of your detention," she informed him, handing him a folded piece of parchment.

"I have something for you too," Harry told her, fighting the urge to say something snappy that would likely get him more detention. He rummaged in his bag and produced his rewritten Transfiguration homework. "Here," he said, handing it over.

The grey-haired professor took the parchment, scanned it, and looked down her nose at him. "This is all your own work?" she demanded sharply. "None of your friends helped you write it?"

Harry struggled to keep back the stream of vulgarity that he so desperately wanted to let out. "It's my work, Professor," he said as calmly as he could. "I'd already written it once, so writing it over again wasn't so hard."

She gave him another piercing glance, trying to determine if he was sassing her or not. "Very well then. Enjoy your lunch."

Harry sat down with his friends and opened up the parchment she had given him. "Oh no, I've got detention with Lockhart!" he exclaimed.

Jenna patted his hand. "I'm sure that's the most diabolical thing they could come up with," she reassured him. "A few hours of listening to that git prattle on about himself would be torture for anyone."

Harry ate as his friends speculated about the odious form his detention would take. There were suggestions of helping Lockhart to brush his hair, taking photographs of the man, or helping to polish his ego. Harry stuffed the parchment into his bag, determined to ignore it until Saturday night.

The post usually came in the morning, so Harry was surprised when Arlette came swooping in with a letter for Draco. He opened it eagerly as Arlette began snacking on the leftover food on his plate.

"It's from Elan!" Draco cried jubilantly.

Harry felt a sudden stab of guilt. He hadn't thought about the older boy since he had arrived at school. He waited impatiently for Draco to finish reading; he wanted to ask how his brother was coping with life at Durmstrang. He opened his mouth to inquire after the former Hogwarts prefect, but the bell sounded, prompting the students to rise en masse.

"So how is the old boy?" Tim asked as they began the trek to History of Magic. "Is Durmstrang interesting?"

"I haven't finished reading," Draco replied. "But I gather he doesn't like it."

to be continued...


	9. Murmurs

**They Shook Hands : Year Two**

An alternate (but realistic!) universe Harry Potter fic  
by Dethryl

**Chapter Nine - Murmurs**

History of Magic was going to be as boring as ever. Harry came to this conclusion within minutes of arriving in the classroom. The Slytherins sat down and promptly settled into relaxed postures. Perhaps they should have brought pillows. He did have to admit, Professor Binns' standard entry of passing through the blackboard was interesting again, but they would all become tired of it well before Christmas.

As Binns began lecturing, it seemed as though no time at all had passed since the end of the last school year. He rambled on in his monotonic idiom, even once saying, "As we discussed last time..."

Harry struggled to keep his eyes open. The only person not drowsy was the Muggleborn Hermione Granger. She sat straight in her chair looking very attentive. Harry wondered how she was able to even pretend to be interested. He peered over at her notes. Good grief, she actually _was_ listening to the teacher.

Draco was reading his letter from his older brother Elan. It had arrived during lunch, and Draco had only told them that Elan didn't sound too happy about being all alone in a foreign country. Harry could hardly blame him. He himself had felt all alone in a whole other world back at the Dursleys over the summer.

Thank Merlin that Elan and Draco had come to rescue him. Harry still felt guilty that his friends had _needed_ to come to his aid though. Elan's present circumstances were, of course, what had resulted from that valiant action. If Elan was unhappy, then the blame lay with Harry.

Harry brooded about the news from Durmstrang for most of the lecture. When class ended, Harry absently picked up his bag and followed along as the Slytherins descended to the depths of the castle again. He shut his troubles away, though. It was time for Potions, and they would be brewing today for a double session. He couldn't help but smile.

"So how is Elan?" Millie asked Draco the second they were out of the classroom.

"He says hello to everyone," Draco told them. "He misses us all."

"Aww, that's so sweet," Blaise sighed. "When you write back, tell him we miss him too."

"Yeah, the new prefect just isn't the same," Millie complained. "Palce is too quiet. Elan was loads more fun." Sam Palce, a sixth-year boy, had been granted the prefect's badge in Elan's absence.

"Believe me, he would like nothing better than to be back at Hogwarts," Draco told her.

"But he's quite lucky to be studying at Durmstrang," Tim noted. "It's a very prestigious school."

"One of the best in Europe," Draco agreed. "It's quite the set of circumstances that landed him that spot."

That, Harry felt, was a drastic understatement. Draco and Harry hadn't told the others what had really transpired between Professor Dumbledore and Mr. Malfoy. Draco had informed Harry that Elan's expulsion was not common knowledge and firmly asked if he would please keep quiet about it. After that, he had adamantly refused to discuss the situation at all

Harry understood that it wouldn't look proper for wild stories about expulsion to go floating around the school. It was remarkably coincidental, they would say, that Elan Malfoy had supposedly been seen dressed like a Death Eater and was then expelled from school. Idle minds would lead to speculation, and idle tongues would wag. Never mind that none of it was true. Elan was not a Death Eater, nor had he been officially expelled, but appearance was everything.

"He says classes are very difficult," Draco was saying, "and he has to take more of them than he did here at Hogwarts. He has a lot of homework that he has to write in German."

"He can't use a Translation Charm?" Tim asked, sounding surprised.

"He's been forbidden," Draco snorted. "By the Headmaster himself."

"That's horrible," Pansy declared.

"Moderately horrible, yes. Elan speaks some German, but now he's really having to learn it. Let's see, the school is small, so he's already gotten to know most everyone. He's made some friends, but he says it's not like having his old mates around. He's considered a fairly important person of course, being a Malfoy and all, so he hasn't been punished yet, but he's convinced it's only a matter of time before one of the professors hexes him."

"Hexes?" Blaise gasped.

Draco nodded. "We lose points. They get hexed for too many wrong answers. And breaking rules. Mostly minor hexes, but just yesterday he saw a girl get Transfigured into a mouse and locked in a cage for an hour."

"Sounds like Filch would love it there," Jenna giggled.

"He misses English food. Apparently the cook is not an important part of the school budget."

"We'll have to find the kitchens and send him a care package," Blaise decided.

"'All in all it's not absolutely horrible'," Draco read. "'If Karkaroff wasn't constantly breathing down my neck, I could probably be having quite the decent time here. Father told him to keep an eye on me, and I'm beginning to believe he's interpreting that request literally.'"

"Poor guy," Pansy sighed with a touch of sadness.

They might have gone on and discussed Elan's letter further, but they had arrived at the dungeon classroom of Professor Snape, and he was already waiting for them. So were the Gryffindors.

"You are all five minutes late," Snape said in an even tone. "Mister Malfoy, explain."

In the third row, Weasley was trying to hide his wide grin behind his large hand. After all the times when he and the Gryffindors had gotten in trouble, perhaps he thought the Slytherins were finally going to get some comeuppance. Snape _hated_ tardiness.

"I was reading the first letter from my brother," Draco answered Snape truthfully. "And he says the Potions Master at Durmstrang isn't nearly as good as you, sir." Draco didn't bat an eye as he offered up the praise, which may or may not have been true. Draco had told them about the letter, but hadn't yet shown it.

"Indeed?" Professor Snape asked, sounding amused. A very small smile crossed his face. "I suppose we can make allowances for correspondence from a Hogwarts prefect. Take your seats."

Harry found himself looking forward to his first Herbology class. During the previous school year, they had only worked in greenhouse one. Now that they had some experience under their belts, they would be studying the more interesting and more dangerous plants kept in the other conservatories.

Professor Sprout, the Herbology teacher, was a squat little witch who wore a patched hat over her flyaway hair. There was usually a large amount of earth on her clothes and under her fingernails. Aunt Petunia, the most fastidious person Harry knew, would have fainted upon meeting her. At the moment she had a somewhat frazzled look about her, but Harry understood perfectly; Professor Lockhart was talking to her.

"Quite a decent crop of Mandrakes, I must say. Not nearly as healthy as a batch I raised several years ago, but then again, not everybody has my delicate touch with plants."

There were several plants in some of the restricted greenhouses that could apply a 'delicate touch' to Lockhart, Harry thought viciously.

"Off with you now, Professor, I'm sure you have more important things to do than grub around in the dirt with the second years." Somehow, Professor Sprout managed to sound pleasant.

"Quite right, quite right. I'll see everyone at lunch." The possibility of getting dirty seemed to have finally chased the pompous arse away. He quick-stepped it through the vegetable patches and hurried into the castle.

Sprout watched him leave with an expression that might have been relief. "Hello, second years," she said to the assembled Slytherins and Ravenclaws.

"Good morning, Professor Sprout!" they all responded in unison.

"We'll be in greenhouse three today, chaps." The students looked at each other with some sense of anticipation. Sprout took a large key from her belt and unlocked the door. Harry caught a whiff of damp earth and fertilizer mingling with the heavy perfume of some giant, umbrella-sized flowers dangling from the ceiling.

Professor Sprout took her place at the head of a trestle bench in the centre of the greenhouse. Pairs of different-coloured earmuffs lay in a pile. "Line up, now dears, line up. Today we're going to be repotting Mandrakes. Now who can tell me the properties of the Mandrake?"

To nobody's surprise, Tim's hand was the first in the air. Ever competitive with him when it came to academics, Terry Boot threw a glare in his direction as his own hand went up a half-second later.

"Nott?"

"Mandrake, Mandragora, is a powerful restorative. It's used to return people who have been transfigured or cursed into their original state."

"Excellent. Ten points to Slytherin. The Mandrake forms an essential part of most antidotes, which is why I make it a point to raise a crop every few years. However, it is also dangerous. Who can tell me why? Boot?"

"The cry of the mature Mandrake is fatal to anyone who hears it," Terry said smugly, glancing to see if Tim was paying attention. "The cry of an immature Mandrake can cause unconsciousness, paralysis, and brain damage."

"Good! Ten points to Ravenclaw. Now, the Mandrakes we have here are still very young." She pointed to a row of deep trays as she spoke, and everyone shuffled forward to get a better look. A hundred or so tufty little plants, purplish green in colour, were growing there in neatly ordered rows. They looked quite unremarkable, but Harry knew from reading _Fantastic Beasts and Where To Find Them_ that something magnificent awaited them all underneath. "Everyone take a pair of earmuffs."

There was a bit of a scramble as everyone tried to get a set of earmuffs that wasn't bright pink and fluffy.

"You'll want to make sure your ears are completely covered," Professor Sprout said. "When it is safe to remove the earmuffs, I will give you a thumbs up." She demonstrated. "Until then, leave them in place. Now, earmuffs _on!_"

Harry snapped the earmuffs over his ears. They shut out sound completely. They must have been magically enhanced. Professor Sprout took the pink pair for herself, rolled up her sleeves, grasped one of the tufty plants firmly, and pulled hard.

Harry let out a gasp that he couldn't hear. Instead of roots, a small, muddy, and very ugly baby popped out of the earth. The leaves were growing right out of the top of its head. He had pale green skin and was visibly bawling at the top of his lungs. Nothing in the text had prepared Harry for this sight.

Professor Sprout took a large plant pot from under the table and plunked the Mandrake into it, burying him in dark, damp compost until only the tufted leaves were visible again. She dusted off her hands, gave them a thumbs up, and removed her own earmuffs.

"As our Mandrakes are only seedlings, their cries won't kill yet," she said calmly as though she'd just done nothing more exciting than water a begonia. "However, as Boot pointed out, they _will_ knock you out for several hours. Make sure your earmuffs are securely in place while you work. I will attract your attention when it's time to pack up. Four students to a tray. There's a large supply of pots here; the compost is in the sacks over there. Do mind the Venemous Tentacula, he's teething."

She gave a sharp slap to a spiky, dark red plant as she spoke, making it draw in the long feelers that had been inching sneakily over her shoulder.

Harry, Draco, Tim, and Jenna were already gathered at a tray. Terry and Padma Patil joined Blaise and Pansy. Crabbe, Goyle, and Millie partnered with Mandy Brocklehurst. Harry nodded to the Ravenclaws, but they had no chance to talk. Earmuffs were back on, and Mandrakes needed repotting.

Professor Sprout had made it look easy, but there was nothing simple about it. The Mandrakes didn't like coming out of the earth, but they didn't seem to want to go back into it either. They squirmed, kicked, flailed their little fists, and gnashed their teeth. Harry spent ten minutes trying to squash a particularly fat one into a pot.

By the end of the lesson, they were all sweaty, grubby, aching, and covered in earth. They traipsed back to the dungeons for a quick wash before hurrying to the Astronomy Tower for their next class.

Harry was not enjoying his first real detention. It wasn't so much that he minded the time away from his studies. During every study session, he would often take a short break every hour or so to play a quick game with the others. It was simply not possible to study History, Transfiguration, _and_ Astronomy without going barmy. No, it was not the stolen study time he minded, but rather that he had to spend the time in the same room as Professor Gilderoy Lockhart.

The perfumed popinjay had not set Harry to scrubbing cauldrons, polishing armour, or some other physical task. No, it had been Harry's dubious honour sit at a desk and address envelopes for the famous wizard's fanmail. It was absolutely disgusting.

Countless framed photographs of Lockhart hung on the walls, that toothy smile gleaming eerily in the light of many candles. He had even signed a few of the pictures. Another large stack lay on the desk. The sheer numbers were staggering.

The minutes positively snailed by. Harry had done his best to let Lockhart's voice wash over him after his first outrageously pretentious remark of, "Now then, Harry, just because you're somewhat famous doesn't mean you can afford to slack off on your studies. All students must do their homework, and that includes you." Now Harry merely nodded and made vague affirmative noises as Lockhart blathered on about ... something.

As the candles burned lower, light danced over the many moving faces of Lockhart that were all watching him. Harry wrote out another address with an aching hand. _It must be nearly time to leave_, he thought miserably to himself. _Please let it be nearly time._

And then he heard something. It was a sound quite unlike the sputtering of the dying candles or Lockhart's prattling about his fans. In fact, it was unlike anything he had ever heard. It was a voice, a voice to chill the marrow in his bones, a voice of breath-taking, ice-cold venom.

_"Come... come to me... Let me rip you... Let me tear you... Let me kill you..."_

Harry jumped sharply. "What?"

"I know!" Lockhart exclaimed. "Right there in the shop! Needless to say, I was _quite_ scandalized."

"No," Harry said, trying to keep his imagination from conjuring up images of whatever it was Lockhart had been talking about. "That voice."

Lockhart peered at him quizically. "Voice? What voice?"

He probably hadn't heard. The egotist probably never heard any voice other than his own. Harry put on a phoney smile. "Oh, it must have been nothing. Trick of the night. Perhaps a piece of a dream."

"Nodding off in detention is unseemly, Harry," Lockhart reproved him. "But no wonder, we've been here nearly four hours! I'd have never believed. Well, I suppose I must let you be getting some rest tonight. Very well, on your way now. Remember, you mustn't expect a treat like this every time you serve detention."

Treat! Harry nearly forgot the phantom voice in his irritation. Writing addresses on envelopes was nearly as tedious as writing lines had been in his old Muggle school. He swallowed his feelings and hurried out into the hall. Whose voice had that been?

Harry strained his ears, trying to catch even a whisper of that chilling voice. There was nothing, only silence. He couldn't even hear a ghost wafting through the corridors. This was most unsettling. He had been very tired, but Harry _hadn't_ been imagining things... had he?

Troubled, Harry walked slowly back to his dorm. He took his time, hoping to hear the voice again, but there was only silence. He ambled on, hoping his mind wasn't playing tricks on him.

As he entered the common room, Harry saw that the fire had burned quite low. No Slytherin was yet so concerned about marks that he was burning the midnight oil. In the dorm, all his friends were asleep.

Harry shrugged out of his robes and put on his pyjamas. Crawling under the covers, he blew out the candle that had been left burning for him. His last thought before sleep claimed him was that he was lucky to have such caring friends.

The next morning, Harry pulled Draco and Tim aside before breakfast to tell them about the voice he had heard. His friends were both extremely clever, and Harry felt confident that there was nothing the three of them couldn't figure out if they worked together.

"And Lockhart couldn't hear it?" Tim asked, scratching his head.

"That doesn't add up," Draco told them. "Even someone under an invisibility cloak would have to open the door."

"And that definitely didn't happen," Harry replied. "It couldn't have been a ghost, do you think?"

"No, Lockhart would have heard it in that case."

"Could he be lying?" Draco asked.

"Why would he lie about it?" Harry said in response. "I just don't understand."

"It's a mystery," Tim grinned. "I like mysteries."

There were no more clues to the mysterious voice in the next couple of weeks, and without a repeat performance by the disembodied voice, Harry had almost forgotten the strange incident in Lockhart's office as his days settled into a comforting, familiar routine

The first meeting of the Hogwarts Choir hadn't yet been scheduled, so Harry did have that to look forward to, but his free time was largely taken up by homework and Quidditch practice, which Marcus Flint had been ruthless about. The Slytherin team drilled at odd hours, in horrible weather, and for long stretches at a time. Harry was particularly annoyed with the latter, since he'd never failed to catch the Snitch in less than a few minutes once he'd spotted it.

His classes were all much the same as last year. Transfiguration was still abominably difficult. Charms would require work, but at least it would be interesting. Astronomy was complicated but fascinating. Herbology and Potions remained his best subjects.

It was in Defence Against the Dark Arts that Harry was convinced his true skills lay. That was a part of their formal schooling, after all, to discover in what areas their magical talents were strongest and what areas needed to be worked on and developed. Even with Professor Quirrell's bumbling interference, Harry had proven himself a fast learner and potent caster of spells.

It was unfortunate that Professor Lockhart appeared to be even less competent than Quirrell. The case for incompetence was plainly made when Lockhart rather arrogantly stated that it had been simplicity itself in order to conquer the villainous Valosian vampire.

You see, Lockhart's lectures were almost totally uninformative. They learned no spells, no hexes, not even important traits of Dark creatures. Instead, Lockhart told them stories of his exploits, and as interesting as the stories sometimes were (Harry could not deny that the man was a talented storyteller), Harry was very tired of being called upon to play the role of the monster as Lockhart acted out his adventures.

"And then I threw the silver dagger at it, like _so_, causing it to scream in mortal agony. Scream, Harry. Come on, scream."

Sighing, knowing that his friends were infinitely more entertained by this than he was, Harry drew in a deep breath and yelled like bloody murder.

"That's excellent! Now, I had wounded the creature, and that's all it really takes. I drew my wand and cast the Homorphous Charm. The magic sank in through the open wound, and quick as a whip, there stood a normal man before me, cured of his foul curse."

The most irritating thing was that he looked as though they should all be impressed beyond words. Harry sighed and refrained from looking at his watch again.

Tim raised his hand. "Professor? Isn't the Homorphous Charm only temporary?"

"Not at all, Nott," Lockhart tried to dismiss the question.

"But sir, it says right here in-"

"Perhaps such restrictions apply to _ordinary_ wizards, Nott, but Gilderoy Lockhart is no normal mage."

"You're abnormal alright," Harry heard Jenna mutter. He bit his tongue in order to keep from laughing out loud.

That week flew by without Harry even really being aware of it, and before he knew it, he was stuck in History of Magic again on Friday afternoon. Yawning hugely, he rested his head in his hands and gazed off into nothing.

Hermione Granger was paying attention, and as she was the only thing in the room showing more life signs than a corpse, Harry decided to watch her. It wasn't really fair to say that she was the only one who paid attention. Several of the other Hufflepuffs also tried to keep up. Harry saw Justin Finch-Fletchley lean over to ask Granger a question. He'd never spoken to the curly-haired boy and knew his name only by hearing Professor Binns call the roll. Another girl, Harry thought her name was Megan Jones, leaned towards them and whispered something back. Were these Granger's friends then? Somehow he'd never thought about the Muggleborn witch as having friends.

Harry pondered the social circles of the Hufflepuffs for the rest of the lecture. There were only two purebloods of his year in that House. Did they get on at all with the Muggleborns? What about those of mixed blood? His musings kept him occupied and, more importantly, awake for the rest of class.

He pulled himself out of his seat with some difficulty once Binns stopped boring everyone to tears. Draco waited for him as the other Slytherins hurried to escape. Harry groaned as he moved stiff muscles.

"I think I started to put down roots," he complained.

"We really need to get a new teacher for this class," Draco commiserated. "I can't take six more years of this. It's such a waste of time."

"Maybe once Abraham finishes school he'd be willing to come back and fill our young minds," Harry laughed. Abraham Montague, former Slytherin prefect and now Head Boy, was one of the only students at Hogwarts who enjoyed History. They had just exited the classroom when they heard voices coming from around the corner.

"I'm so excited about tomorrow," an unfamiliar girl was saying. "Hermione, you're going to love the cake my mum is sending up. Nothing beats her lemon surprise."

"I'm quite certain it will be scrumptious," Granger replied. "Thank you so much for having her do that."

"Mum likes to bake," the girl replied.

"Well that works, because I like to eat," a boy's voice joined in.

"And what makes you think you're having any of my birthday cake, Justin?" Granger teased him.

"Because you love me?" he asked slyly. "Can't bear to see me waste away to nothing, knowing that you could have prevented it?"

"Justin, you're impossible," the girl laughed.

"I try, Meg, I really do."

"Isn't that sweet?" Draco let the words roll off his tongue languidly as he turned the corner. He sounded bored out of his mind. "Three happy little Mudbloods latched onto each other like leeches."

Granger's back stiffened, and she turned a pale face to stare down the two Slytherins. "Go away, Malfoy," she said defiantly.

"I heard it was your birthday tomorrow, Granger. Can't a chap wish his schoolmate a happy birthday anymore without-" Draco began in a mock-offended tone.

"No!" Granger burst out. She pointed an accusing finger at him. "Don't try to twist things around. You just want to make some nasty comment and see me cry."

"Harry, did I say I want to make her cry?" Draco asked innocently.

"No, not at all," he smirked.

"Go away!" she shouted at them.

Draco took a moment to wink at the three Hufflepuffs. "I'm going," he said, "but only because I _want_ to."

Harry followed along. "Why do you enjoy bothering her so much?" he asked curiously once they were out of earshot.

"Who, Granger?" Draco acted as if he didn't know. "I'm not sure. I guess just because I don't really even have to try. It's an effortless, instant mood booster."

"What would you ever do without her to torment?" Harry laughed.

"There are others," Draco said soberly. "And if all else fails, Weasley."

October arrived in due course, spreading a damp chill over the grounds and into the castle. The miserable weather spawned a spate of head colds all over the castle. Students, including Weasley's baby sister, and staff, Professor Sinistra especially, checked in with Madam Pomfrey to get a dose of her Pepperup potion. The stuff worked instantly, but it left the drinker smoking at the ears for several hours afterwards.

It was Monday morning in the first week of the month that saw the first notable news from the world outside Hogwarts. As the morning post owls began dropping copies of the _Daily Prophet_ into students' waiting hands, a low murmur began to spread through the Great Hall, undercutting the normal dull roar. Harry unfolded his copy and scanned the headlines.

**MINISTER SIGNS NEW BUDGET**

London: The Ministry of Magic went through a dramatic realignment today, as Minister Cornelius Fudge signed into law a new budget that eliminated redundant offices, shifted some offices to different departments, and is designed to reduce the taxes that each wizard pays.

Lucius Malfoy, 38, Hogwarts school governor and the primary sponsor of the bill had this to say at the signing: "Waste is deplorable. With this new budget, we are giving something back to every wizarding family, and we will be able to facilitate the processing of each and every situation that falls under Ministry jurisdiction."

That position was repeated by Under-Minister Howell, a spokesman for the Ministry Accounting Office. "Every year I see the numbers go up and up, and the Ministry gets bigger and bigger. Yet I don't notice any vast improvement in the quality of government service. In fact, it's gotten worse. Do you know how long I had to wait in order to get my new Floo set up? And I _know_ all the people over at Magical Transportation! It's absurd! It's time to act responsibly about the size and scope of the entire Ministry. Right now it's big and ugly. Small government is beautiful."

As Harry turned to show Draco what the paper said, he was already reading over Pansy's shoulder. When he had finished, Draco raised his face and smiled broadly. "Weasley's father is out of a job," he said, sounding very pleased with himself.

"Didn't his Office get shuffled down into a sub-sub-sub-area of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement?" Harry asked. "That's what the story says."

"Yes, but look here," Draco told him. "Arthur Weasley transferred to Centaur Liaison Office."

"Literally transferred, wow," Tim marvelled. "Well, he should have plenty of free time in which to better himself as a wizard."

"I don't get it." Harry was confused.

"It's very simple, Harry," Blaise explained. "No centaur has ever even been to the Liaison Office."

"So that's why it pays so little!" Harry was pleased with his little deduction. Nobody had taken the time to explain to him the jokes they'd been making.

"Right. Now, being transferred to that office has long been simply a euphemism for getting the pink slip, but someone's father thought it would be funny to actually transfer Weasley's dad there."

"Father has a wonderful sense of humour," Draco declared.

"_I_ thought it was funny," Tim added.

"You would," Pansy snipped.

"I'm going to take a stroll," Draco announced.

"No, you're not," Pansy said, turning on him. "We'll be able to get plenty of digs in on him during Potions. Which we have to get to right now."

And digs were exactly the course of the day. As they entered the Potions classroom, Professor Snape was busy inscribing notes on the board with his wand. He was using black chalk on the black slate of the board, so they couldn't read the notes until they were all sitting and Snape waved his wand at the board, changing the black chalk to white.

"I am making a change in our lesson plan," Snape announced. It may have been Harry's imagination, but the greasy professor had a note of amusement in his voice. "Today you will learn about the magical properties of centaur hair and what use it can be in potionmaking."

to be continued...


	10. Assault

**They Shook Hands : Year Two**

An alternate (but realistic!) universe Harry Potter fic  
by Dethryl

**Chapter Ten - Assault**

Almost before Harry knew it, the end of October had arrived. Everyone seemed to be in a festive mood as Halloween approached, even the professors. In the spirit of things, there had been no homework assigned over the weekend, and the young Slytherins were looking forward to relaxing.

It was almost guaranteed that there would be no trollish visits this year. So far as Harry could tell, none of the teachers was possessed by Voldemort. Lockhart was certainly too full of himself to allow any other presence to inhabit his body, not to mention the fits he would throw if his hair all fell out like Quirrell's had.

The only troll in residence around the castle appeared to be Weasley. He'd been downright nasty the whole week long, and nobody had been able to figure out why. The red-haired lout practically snarled at any Slytherin he saw. Whatever was bothering him must have been a family issue, because his older brothers were decidedly out of sorts too.

Even the perfect swot of a prefect was in a foul mood. Harry and Draco left breakfast on Halloween morning to find the fellow reading the riot act to the Slater twins. The long-haired firsties seemed to wilt under the barrage of verbal abuse the older boy was freely handing out.

"That'll be quite enough of that," Draco commanded, interjecting himself on the scene.

"Draco, what are you doing?" Harry asked under his breath.

"This is none of your concern, Malfoy," Percy told him in clipped tones. "Move along."

"Just because your knickers are in a knot doesn't mean you have the right to take it out on innocent firsties," Draco sassed back.

"I don't recall asking your opinion," Percy snapped.

"You, those twin batshits, and that other wanker have been downright unbearable for a week now, even more unbearable than before," Draco noted carelessly. "If I had to guess, you're all hacked off because your father now has an even _less_ important job at the Ministry. You should just accept that you're poor, your family is in the dust, and you are still second rate."

Percy turned pink with rage. "You im_pert_inent little," he started to say through clenched teeth.

"I know you think you're some kind of big shot around here now that my brother's gone," Draco continued mouthing off, "but you're not. You're not even a medium shot. You're an arsehole."

"Draco, shut _up!_" Harry hissed. They were going to be dead if this kept up.

Percy's face reflected his absolute shock at a lowly second year student daring to talk to a sixth year prefect in such a disrespectful tone. "Ten points from Slytherin, Malfoy. You will mind your tone, or I will be forced to inform Professor Snape of your unseemly behaviour."

"I'm all afright!" Draco sneered. "Can't discipline me yourself because you're not Head Boy, and if Elan were here, you'd never even be able to dream about that gold badge."

Percy's flushed face paled. "That settles the matter," he half-growled, clearly pushed beyond his patience. He grabbed Draco by the arm. "I am heartily tired of your insolence, you little tearaway. You will come with me to Professor Snape. I am sure he knows how to deal with impudence like yours."

Draco waved casually to Harry. "I'll be along soon." As Percy began to haul him away bodily, he looked up and kept running his mouth. "Mark my words, you wouldn't see Elan taking out his grief on a pair of scared little Gryffindorks."

"I'm not scared!" Lucas Slater piped up as the pair turned the corner.

"I know," Harry comforted him, still trying to make sense of what had gone on. "I think we'd all better get back to the common room."

"Why was that boy so angry?" Lucas wanted to know. Harry assumed it was Lucas, because Laine had always been too nervous to speak in front of him.

"I don't know, Lucas," Harry answered. "His family and Draco's family just don't get along."

"Why?"

"I don't know that either."

Draco's belligerence had truly shocked Harry. He'd almost been asking for trouble, barging into the situation like he had. "What were you two doing, anyway?"

"We were just standing in the hall talking," Lucas explained. "Were we doing anything wrong?"

"Just standing around?" Harry pressed. "No mischief?"

Laine blushed and looked away. "Well, nothing _serious_," Lucas corrected himself. "We were only looking for secret passages."

Harry shook his head. Were all Weasleys snots? "Just keep an eye out for Mrs. Norris," he said by way of parting advice as they passed through the wall.

When Draco swaggered into the common room a short time later, Harry motioned him to sit down. "Have you gone spare?" he demanded.

Draco grinned at him. "Someone had to take that twit down a peg or two."

"And who appointed you?" Harry demanded. "How many points did we lose, and who do you have detention with?"

"None, and not applicable." Draco reached for a pack of cards. "Did you find out why the Slaters were being yelled at?"

"They were just looking for secret passages," Harry replied. "How are you not in a world of trouble?"

"Because Weasley Eld brought me to Snape," Draco said, shuffling the deck.

"And?"

"And what? Weasley interrupted Snape while he was brewing, which almost got him into more trouble than _I_ should have been in. Snape gave me a little lecture and let me off. I've got to turn in the essay about moonglow one class earlier."

Harry shook his head. "Unbelievable," was all he could say.

That incident was not Slytherin House's last run-in with the Weasley clan that day. When told the story, complete with all of Draco's witty insults about the twin Weasleys, Slytherin's two Beaters, Bole and Derrick, had laughed uproariously. Sticking their heads together, they began to hatch some nefarious plot. It was only to be expected that members of the house team would try to antagonize the Gryffindor team, because the first Quidditch match of the year was only a week away.

Gryffindor had booked the pitch to practice that day, but Bole and Derrick went sneaking down to infiltrate the broom shed before the team arrived. They charmed the twins' Cleansweep Fives to a lovely pattern of green and silver, then found some excellent concealment in the stands. As they later told the story, outraged shouts had been heard, and the whole team looked for the pranksters. Oliver Wood, Gryffindor's captain, tolerated none of it, though, and ordered them back to practice.

The whole idea was to shake the twins' confidence in their brooms. To that end, Bole and Derrick applied a super-slick wax that sealed in the new colours, but also made a secure grip on the handle extremely difficult and sitting properly nigh impossible. Then, just for fun, all through the practice, they cast jinxes that caused the brooms to twist at inopportune moments. Since they hadn't actually bewitched the brooms, there was no trace of tampering. At lunch, Wood looked extremely panicked. If his two Beaters were riding unpredictable brooms, well, Harry could only imagine how Flint would handle the situation, and Wood was reputed to be even more of a fanatic than Flint.

"Green and bloody silver!" one of the twins cussed as he left the hall in the company of the Quidditch commentator, Lee Jordan. "And slicker than Snape's hair! I could barely stay on the thing."

"Too bad you don't have even half of Potter's skill, eh Weasley?" That voice belonged to Miles Bletchley, Slytherin's Keeper. "He certainly has no problem staying on a wild broom."

Weasley turned to glare as the team laughed. They were all grinning impudently up at the two Gryffindors. "Considering how slimy Slytherins are, I imagine you all have to use Permanent Sticking Charms to keep upright," Jordan said acidly.

Miles ignored that and turned to his teammates. "So I think I've persuaded Father to get me my Christmas present early," he announced.

"And what present would that be?" Dezzy Montague inquired, playing along.

"A Nimbus Two-Thousand," Miles shrugged. "I didn't ask for anything else. It should be here in a few days."

Weasley's jaw dropped. "Not an Oh-One?" he asked sarcastically. Despite his tough talk, the look of envy that crossed his face was unmistakable. The Nimbus 2000 was the best broom available; the best broom, that is, aside from the 2001 model. The new design had come out at the beginning of the Quidditch season and received nothing but praise.

"That's my birthday present," Miles bantered back.

"When you get it, you should use the Two-Thousand as firewood," Dezzy suggested.

Both Weasley and Jordan looked sick. Harry shared their feelings. Dezzy's idea was truly horrible. No good broom deserved that sort of treatment.

"The Oh-One is only available to professional teams right now," Flint chimed in. "If you do manage to get one before summer, Dez, it'll be a bloody miracle."

"I don't think I'll need it. It's not like we're playing the Holyhead Harpies or anything," Dezzy chuckled.

"Yeah, these clowns are more like the Chudley Cannons," Adrian Pucey snorted, spawning howls of laughter that chased the two Gryffindors away from the table.

The first meeting of the Hogwarts Choir had been an uneventful gathering in the middle of October. Their conductor, the Sorting Hat, had sent them away with instructions to think about what songs they might want to sing. They were to report back on Sunday evening with at least two ideas each. Now, having put it off until the day before, the Slytherins sat around in the common room discussing it.

"What about Scarborough Faire?" Pansy suggested as she tossed bits of wood into the fireplace. "It's about a wizard who needs to do well in school in order to win the love of his sweetheart."

"If you were the sweetheart, you'd be waiting a very long time," Tim said flippantly. "That wizard would be telling the Headmaster what to go do with himself just to keep from leaving school."

Pansy threw a stick at him. "Not that any witch would wait more than five minutes for _you_, Nott."

"Greensleeves?" Blaise made this suggestion. "It was composed by a queen, and it's just so romantic."

"Very romantic," Pansy agreed.

"Which queen was this?" Harry asked. He'd never been much of a history student, but the wizarding aspect of it made it more interesting.

"Anne Boleyn, the second queen of Henry the Eighth," Blaise told him. "She gave birth to only a girl child, so he had her head chopped off."

"An eminently suitable fate for Pansy," Tim interjected, then dodged another stick.

"That princess' name was Elizabeth Tudor," Blaise continued.

"Queen Elizabeth the First was a witch?" Harry was completely shocked. He wondered what the Dursleys would think of that.

"Of course. She attended Hogwarts, and she was a Slytherin just like her mother. My sister Jamie showed me her portrait in the prefect's lounge. How do you think she survived all those attempts on her life, if not by magic?" Blaise asked rhetorically.

"She was the last witch queen to reign over England," Tim added. "She died in sixteen oh-three, the same year the Lord High Wizengamot proposed to break away from the Muggle world. The split wasn't finished until sixteen ninety-two, though, because of the revolutions."

"Elizabeth was also a half-blood," Draco sneered. "She and her mother were embarrassments to our house."

"I'm a half-blood too." Harry was suddenly stung to lashing out. "Am I an embarrassment as well?"

Draco choked. "Of course not," he sputtered, back-peddling for all he was worth. "I- I- Damn it, don't put me on the spot like that."

"It's okay, Draco," Pansy soothed with fake sympathy. "You let your mouth speak without consulting your brain first."

Draco hung his head. "I'm sorry, Harry. I didn't even think. I'd honestly forgotten."

Harry didn't know quite what to say. He didn't talk much about his parents, but his mother had been Muggleborn. That made him a half-blood by any definition, though pure in that he was the child of a witch and wizard.

"'Blood matters,'" he quoted from the unofficial rules. "'Ability matters more.'"

Draco nodded, and for the first time all day he kept his mouth shut. There was a bit of an awkward silence, which Goyle broke.

"I think we should have a religious song," he suggested, going back to the original discussion.

"Who gave you permission to think?" Jenna asked, poking the bigger boy in the side. He squirmed away.

"I did," Crabbe spoke up, coming to his friend's defence.

"We're doomed," she sighed dramatically.

It was nearly time to go up to the Halloween Feast, and Draco had been silent most of the afternoon. Clearly, he was still bothered that he had unthinkingly offended his friend. He was, as the teachers in Harry's Muggle school had often said, considering the feelings of others. He quietly scratched away on a sheet of parchment.

"I'll see you at the feast," he said, breaking his hours long silence. "I've got to go up to the Owlery."

"Want some company?" Crabbe asked him.

"And hear you bellyache about missing out on the food?" Draco joked lightly. "I'd never dream of getting between you and a meal. I value my health."

Crabbe glowered at his friend, but he laughed after a second. "He can be taught."

"I'll be back before you know it," Draco promised. He pulled his cloak around his shoulders and left through the wall.

"Was that a promise or a threat?" Jenna snickered.

"Threat, I think," Millie replied, smirking.

"He's a prat sometimes, but he's not so bad," Pansy spoke up.

"I think you're biased," Jenna pointed out. "Aren't you two supposed to be engaged?"

Pansy made a face. "It's not formal," she said. "And thank Merlin for that. Our parents just sort of expect that we'll fall in love and get married. I know they want it more than Draco and I do."

"The feast starts at half six," Crabbe informed them. "We should head up now."

The Great Hall had been decorated even more extravagantly than it had for last years Halloween Feast. The usual black bats were present, a thousand in number. Orange and black streamers were strung up everywhere, swirling gently in the air currents. Hagrid had been raising huge pumpkins in the patch outside the castle, and now they were big enough to seat three men comfortably. Some had been carved into lanterns and were hung up in the sky, but others sat on the floor, and various games were set up for after the meal.

Golden plates sat on the tables, brightly burning candles filled the hall with a golden glow, and Lockhart wore golden robes that made him look even sillier than normal. Dumbledore stood at the centre of the High Table, waiting for students to finish arriving.

"Welcome to our Halloween Feast," he announced. "I'd like to introduce the Bonesborough Dancing Lazarii, who will be entertaining us throughout the meal."

As the students applauded, the rumours that had been flying around the school proved true. Too many skeletons to conveniently count clattered through the door. A small orchestra followed and settled into the giant pumpkins that were on the floor.

"This is no time for speeches, so eat, drink, and be merry!" The food appeared on the plates, and Crabbe was the first to dig right in. Harry set about filling his plate. The Hogwarts feasts were second to none.

"Where's Draco?" he asked.

Nobody had seen the blond boy arrive yet.

"Probably dawdling," Tim said knowingly.

"Maybe he had to visit the loo," Goyle suggested.

The Dancing Lazarii were definitely the highlight of the night. They danced all around the hall, between the tables, and even grabbed students up to join them in their merriment. One made an attempt to grab Professor Snape as he rose suddenly and strode from the hall, but he backed it off with a snarl and a scowl.

Harry had just begun to take second helpings when he saw Professor Dumbledore also rise and disappear through a side door. He didn't get a chance to wonder at it though, as a skeleton grabbed his arm, and he was slung about like a rag doll to the merry laughter of his friends.

He was quite breathless when he was finally released, and he gulped pumpkin juice gratefully. "Your turn, Draco," Harry said, trying to smother his laughter. He got no answer.

"Where is he?" Harry asked again.

Nobody knew where Draco was.

"This isn't right," Tim observed. "He'd never miss the feast."

Just then, Sam Palce, the sixth year prefect sat down nearby. "Guess what I just saw, Jamie." The blonde girl turned a wan expression towards him. She'd been mopey all day. Harry presumed she was feeling sad because she had gotten a letter from Elan. She didn't answer Palce with words.

Palce, by contrast, was smiling. "This should cheer you up a bit. I just saw Percy Weasley getting dragged down the corridor by Snape, and Snape looked livid."

The notion of perfect Percy prefect being chopped up and used as Potions ingredients elicited a slight smile from Jamie, but soon she settled back into her melancholy. "I just wish," she sighed, staring despondently at her plate. It was pretty obvious what she was wishing for.

One of the skeletons bounced over and grabbed her by the arm. It tried to tug her to her feet, but Jamie was having no part of it. She jerked her arm away roughly. The skeleton made another grab, but Jamie had clearly been pushed far enough. She drew her wand and pointed it at the dancer. "_Immobulus!_" she snarled.

Blue light flashed from the tip of her wand and struck the skeleton direct in the face. It stopped moving instantly. She turned to Lawrence Derrick. "Get this _thing_ away from me."

The burly boy, older brother of a team Beater, jumped right up. He grabbed the skeleton by the neck and hauled it off to the edge of the hall.

"Of all the Weasleys to get in trouble," Jenna marvelled to Harry.

"Who would think it was the prefect?" Harry agreed. He glanced over at the Gryffindor table. "Hey, speaking of Weasleys, where are those prats?"

Sure enough, not a single head of red hair was to be seen at the red and gold table.

"Maybe they're all in trouble," Pansy suggested.

"Have Gryffindor been losing points?" Millie asked.

They all looked at the big hourglasses that proclaimed the House points.

"Not yet," Tim answered. "But if Snape was dragging off a prefect, it's only a matter of time."

That thought was satisfying to them all.

In due course, the students all finished their dinner and started in on pudding. There was more than just pudding, of course, but the big bowl of chocolate seemed to be calling Harry's name. He took a great spoonful of the stuff and passed the bowl on.

Lockhart stood up at that point to tell one of his many tales. Harry wondered if anyone would care were he to grab the pompous professor and hold his head under the water in one of the round wooden tubs set up to bob for apples. Not enough to drown the sot, but just enough to make him swallow some water.

"If I mussed his hair, Lockhart would drown _me_," Harry grumbled, not realizing until Jenna started giggling that he'd spoken aloud.

"I wish you'd lay off him!" Pansy sounded exasperated. "He's a right hero, you know. Just because he cares about his appearance, you lot all think there's something wrong with him."

"There _is_ something wrong with him," Harry answered back. "No normal person needs a hundred pictures of himself hanging in his office."

"Look, there's Snape," Blaise pointed out.

The black-haired Head of Slytherin House entered via the same side door that Professor Dumbledore had left by and returned to the High Table. Surprisingly, he did not sit, but went immediately to Professor McGonagall and leaned down to whisper in her ear. Though she had been looking quite merry, she immediately pursed her lips, and an unhappy frown settled into place. She stood abruptly and hurried from the hall.

Something was definitely going on. Where was Draco? Where were the Weasleys? Where had Snape been? Where was Dumbledore, and where had old McGonagall gone to? It all smelled worse than rotting fish to Harry, and he was agitated until Snape stood up and dismissed them all.

He held onto Tim as the students filed out. Fighting through the rush, they went up to the High Table. "Professor Snape?"

The man nodded. "Ah, there you are. I was about to come find you. Mr. Malfoy is in the Hospital Wing."

Harry gasped. "What for?" Tim demanded.

"He was ambushed by the collective Weasleys," Snape informed them. "Thankfully, he will recover under Madam Pomfrey's excellent care, but he is very hurt. I have no time to deal with questions now, but I shall come to the common room before ten. Excuse me."

"Poor Draco," Harry commented, as Snape hurried off.

"Poor Weasleys, by the time Snape gets through with them," Tim corrected. "And that's not even counting what Draco's father is going to do."

Harry winced. "You're right," was all he said.

They would likely never get in to see Draco, but Harry convinced Tim that they should try anyway. As they climbed up the steps to the second floor, Harry came to a dead stop.

_"...rip...tear...kill..."_

It was the same cold voice, the same spine-shivering, murderous voice he had heard in Lockhart's office.

"What is it?" Tim asked.

Harry shushed him. "Listen!" He stared around wildly, trying to pinpoint the source.

_"...so hungry..."_

"The voice!" Harry whispered. "I heard it again! Come on!"

It was moving, he was sure of it. The chilling whisper was growing fainter. He craned his neck, trying to follow.

_"...kill...time to kill..."_

It _was_ moving. Upwards! How could that be? Did this voice belong to a phantom to whom stone ceilings didn't matter? A mixture of fear and excitement gripped him. He clutched Tim's sleeve and pulled him up the stairs.

"Harry, what are you doing?" Tim tried to reason with him.

"Can't you hear it?" Harry demanded.

From the floor above, he could hear the sibilant voice faintly. _"Blood...I smell blood...I SMELL BLOOD!"_

Harry's stomach lurched. "It's going to kill someone!" he shouted, and he ran.

Despite his apparent bewilderment, Tim's footfalls pounded alongside Harry's own as they ran down the halls. They turned the last corner, into an empty, deserted passage.

"Harry, what's going _on_?" Tim gasped.

"Look!" he cried, pointing down the hallway.

Something was shining on the wall ahead. They approached slowly, squinting through the darkness. Foot-high words had been daubed on the wall between two windows, shimmering red in the light cast by the flaming torches.

**THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED  
ENEMIES OF THE HEIR BEWARE**

Tim's jaw dropped. "W-what's that thing? There, hanging underneath?" His voice was quavering.

Together they edged nearer, and Harry almost slipped in the puddle of water on the floor. Tim grabbed him to prevent him from falling, and they inched ever closer. Their eyes were fixed on the dark shadow beneath the bloody message. As one, they came to comprehension, and they fell back, landing in the puddle with a splash.

Mrs. Norris, the pet cat of the caretaker, Argus Filch, was hanging by her tail from the torch bracket. She was stiff as a board, her eyes wide and staring.

For a few seconds, they couldn't move. Then Tim scrambled to his feet and pulled Harry up as well. "We've got to get out of here," he said shortly.

"Shouldn't we try to help-" Harry began awkwardly.

"No," Tim insisted, pulling him down the hall. "We don't want to be found here."

They ran from the hall as fast as they could. Down the polished marble steps they ran at breakneck speeds. It wasn't until they reached the entrance hall and nearly collided with Mr. Malfoy that they stopped.

"Boys, boys, what's all this about?" he asked. His silver cane was tucked into the belt of his robes, and he held a broom in his hands. He had clearly just arrived in the castle.

"Missus Norris!" Harry gasped. "Dead! Writing on the wall!"

"'Enemies of the Heir beware!'" Tim wheezed. "'The Chamber of Secrets has been opened!'"

Mr. Malfoy's expression, which had been curious, turned very serious indeed. "Say nothing of this, boys," he ordered them. "Tell no one. Were you seen?"

"No," they said together.

"You must have a clear alibi. Come with me to the Hospital Wing. I have only just learned that Draco has been assaulted."

"Weasleys," Harry said as he gulped air, struggling to calm his pounding heart. "They attacked him during the feast. We heard that Snape dragged off Percy earlier. He must have been in on it."

Mr. Malfoy's expression darkened even further. "The Liaison Office was too good for that blood traitor," he snarled vehemently. "I'll hang his bloated corpse from a yardarm and see his sons rot in Azkaban for all eternity."

There was too much going on for Harry to comprehend it all. Draco was hurt, Mrs. Norris was dead, and the Chamber of Secrets, whatever that was, had been opened. He had to practically run in order to keep up with Mr. Malfoy's long strides.

"Mister Malfoy, good, you're here," Madam Pomfrey said as they walked through the door. "Draco is resting comfortably." She looked at the two boys. "You two are not permitted at this time. Back to your common room. At once."

"Thank you, boys," Mr. Malfoy said to them. "I shall be in touch."

Dismissed, Harry and Tim shuffled out into the corridor. It must be pretty serious if they weren't allowed to see him. Harry hoped Draco would be okay. His first wizarding friend had to pull through, he just had to.

"Potter, Nott, where are you coming from?" Professor Snape's voice sounded ragged, as though he had been dealt one too many unpleasant surprises that day.

"Hospital Wing," Tim answered. "Madam wouldn't let us see Draco."

"Certainly not," Snape observed. "Malfoy has been seriously hurt. I was on my way up to meet his father in the entrance hall."

"He's already here, sir," Harry told his head. "We brought him to the Hospital Wing."

"I think we can say goodbye to Prefect Weasley," Tim smirked. "Did you see him lying on the bed towards the back?" he asked Harry. "How come he's not in the dungeons, sir?"

Snape's face paled. "Great Merlin!" he exclaimed as he dashed away.

Tim looked at Harry. "What was that all about?" he asked, bewilderment plain in his voice.

"I don't know," Harry replied. "But I'm exhausted. Let's get back."

to be continued...


	11. Heard It Through The Grapevine

**They Shook Hands : Year Two**

An alternate (but realistic!) universe Harry Potter fic  
by Dethryl

**Chapter Eleven - Heard It Through The Grapevine**

Though the fullness of the evening made it seem late, the hour was still early. In the Slytherin common room, Crabbe, Goyle, and the girls were seated comfortably before the roaring fireplace talking. As Harry sank into one of the numerous beanbag chairs, he sighed in relief. He could finally relax.

"Where have you two been?" Crabbe asked. "Nicking more desserts, I hope."

"We found out where Draco is," Tim answered.

"Where is the git?" Pansy sounded only half-concerned.

"He's in the hospital wing," Harry told her. Suddenly everyone wanted to speak. Harry waited until they had babbled themselves out. "Remember how all the Weasleys were nowhere to be found during the feast?" he asked rhetorically. "Well, apparently they were all out waylaying Draco and using him as a piñata."

"That doesn't make any sense," Crabbe said in a puzzled voice. "Draco is colourful and cheerful, yes, but candy and toys don't fall out of him."

Everyone paused for a moment to blink owlishly at Crabbe. "Why do you know what a piñata is?" Harry asked despite himself. "They come from Mexico." He'd learned that in Muggle school.

"They're pretty popular in India," Crabbe responded. "I saw some when I went there with my dad on a business trip. These kids were swinging at one while an older boy made it float around with his wand."

"Crabbe, I think you took a Bludger to the head the other day," Harry commented. "The point is not whether Draco resembles a piñata, the point is that he was jumped, beaten up, and now he's laying in the hospital wing fighting for his life!"

"Is it bad then?" Blaise sounded very concerned.

"As opposed to good?" Jenna interrupted with a snicker.

"You know what I mean!" Blaise glared at the blonde girl until she lowered her gaze.

"Well, Madam Pomfrey wouldn't let us see him," Tim said. "Which could mean that he's hurt pretty bad, or it could just be that she wanted us out so Draco's father could visit him."

Pansy perked up. "Mister Malfoy is here?"

"Harry and I ran into him in the entrance hall," Tim explained. "Literally."

"What were you brave, handsome boys running from?" Jenna giggled. She pushed her straight blonde hair back and made a face at them.

Harry gave Tim a significant look, which Tim returned. Mr. Malfoy's warning to remain silent about what they had seen was firmly in their minds. "I've got to go get something from my room," Harry demurred, standing up abruptly.

"Yeah, me too," Tim agreed. "And so do you two," he told Crabbe and Goyle.

"We do?"

"Yes, you do," Harry answered.

"Hey, get back here!" Pansy protested as the four boys hightailed it for the dorm. The girls followed suit, and marched in through the door of the boys' dorm, which had deliberately been left open.

"What the hell was that about?" Pansy demanded as she stormed in.

"Close the door, Millie," Tim requested, "and lock it."

"Should we put up a Silencing Charm?" Harry asked.

"I think we ought to," Tim agreed.

"Will you morons stop with all the secrecy and just tell us what's going on?" Pansy snapped, flouncing down on Tim's bed.

"Off of my bed, witch!" he growled. She ignored him.

"Something else is going on in this school," Harry said seriously. "Remember that voice I heard during detention? Well, last night I heard it again. Tim and I went to go talk with Professor Snape, and he's the one who told us about Draco. We were going to try and go see him, but when we were going up the stairs, I heard the voice. It was going on about blood, and I just had the awful feeling that it was going to kill somebody."

"What did you do?" Millie asked in a hushed tone. Everyone was very serious now. The silence seemed to have ridden in with a sudden chill; Blaise shivered.

Harry grimaced. "In what was probably a very dumb move, I tried to follow it. We didn't find whatever it was, but we _did_ find its victim - Missus Norris."

The room exploded with exclamations of surprise. Pansy called down a blessing on the perpetrator, and Harry could understand why. Nobody liked that evil cat. She'd have you in trouble with Filch faster than you could blink. Were it not for the wide-spread rumours that Filch was a Squib, the little dustmop could easily be taken for his familiar.

"That's not all," Tim interjected. "There was a message written in blood on the wall. It said, 'The Chamber of Secrets has been opened. Enemies of the Heir beware.'"

"Heir of what?" Goyle wanted to know.

"What's the Chamber of Secrets?" Blaise queried.

"We don't know," Harry shook his head. "We told Mister Malfoy, but he said not to say a word about it."

"That's odd," Jenna said, chewing on a lock of hair.

"I want to find out what's going on." Harry didn't understand, but this phantom voice had already killed once. It might do so again, and it seemed that only Harry could hear it.

"We should stay far away from it all," Goyle disagreed. "Someone killed Misusus Norris!"

"We can give him a medal for that later," Tim joked. "And if Filch and those like him are the Heir's enemies, I don't think we have anything to worry about."

A knocking at the door interrupted any further discussion. Millie uncharmed the lock and opened it. To everyone's surprise, Terry Boot and Padma Patil stood in the corridor.

"Wotcher, Slytherins," he said cheerfully.

"Hi, Padma," Blaise waved.

"Terry, how did you get in here?" Pansy demanded.

"I banged on the wall for awhile until a fifth year came out and threatened to hex me," he shrugged. "I had to come down and share the news."

"What news?" Tim asked urgently.

"Missus Norris has been petrified!" Terry rejoiced. "Wandering students are now in only half as much danger!"

"What!" the Slytherins exclaimed. Harry was stunned. He'd been convinced that she was dead.

"I know!" Padma completely mistook their enthusiasm. "And that's not all! There was this nasty icky writing on the wall, in _blood_!"

"Blood?" Tim repeated. "What was the message?"

"'The Chamber of Secrets has been opened. Enemies of the Heir, beware,'" Terry breathed in a spooky voice.

"How'd you find all this out?" Harry asked, feeling sick. When he and Tim had run from the scene, he'd have sworn that nobody was around. Had they been seen?

"One of our prefects, Penny Clearwater; she was making her rounds and found everything," Padma informed them. "She ran back to get Douglas, and Cho Chang overheard, and word sort of just spread."

Knowing well how quickly rumours travelled on the Hogwarts grapevine, Harry breathed a sigh of relief. They'd truly gotten away clean.

"I was there when Dumbledore arrived," Terry continued. "Everyone thought Missus Norris was dead, but he said she'd only been petrified. Either way, somebody did something nasty to her."

"Well that's not all that's happened," Millie said, smoothly changing the subject.

Tim started to tell their friends about Draco's assault, but Sam Palce ducked his head in the door. Light glinted off the silver prefect's badge he wore.

"Professor Snape wants to see everyone in the common room right now," Palce told them. "You two had better get back to your house," he said to Terry and Padma.

"Gee, like we don't know what _this_ is about," Jenna grumbled.

Terry and Padma hurried out of Slytherin House, darting by the stern gaze of Professor Snape, who was standing by the door. When the last of the students had sat down in the common room, Snape cleared his throat.

"I have two announcements. First of all, earlier this evening, Draco Malfoy was attacked and beaten." He was forced to pause as angry shouting broke out. "The culprits have been apprehended and are being dealt with," Snape assured them, placing emphasis on the last two words. "Prefect Weasley of Gryffindor managed to keep the scene from turning to tragedy, and Malfoy is resting comfortably in the hospital wing.

"My second announcement is that there has been an attack made on Missus Norris, Caretaker Filch's cat," Snape continued. "She has been petrified. A message was left on the wall, written in blood, proclaiming that the Chamber of Secrets has been opened. An Heir, which the faculty have surmised to mean the Heir of _Slytherin_," he said the word slowly, "has claimed responsibility."

When they had seen him in the corridor earlier, Professor Snape had looked frazzled, but his whole manner had shifted. Now he appeared on edge. "If any of you knows anything, I ask that you come to me in private. You are my wards, my charges; I can and will protect you. So that you might protect yourselves, I ask that you not get caught up in speculation. If the Heir has truly come to Hogwarts, you do not want to get involved."

The next morning at breakfast, three topics of conversation raged for dominance on the Hogwarts grapevine. The story of the Chamber of Secrets being opened fell by the wayside in the wake of Draco's assault.

New details were heard from the Gryffindors via the Ravenclaws that not all of the Weasleys had participated. It turned out that Percy the Prefect, well-known for being a stickler for the rules and a general prat, had not only stumbled on the scene and nabbed his siblings in the act, but had rounded the four up and turned them over to Snape. Such an act of sheer cold-bloodedness could be noted in the next edition of _Hogwarts: A History_ and was the cause of great discord at the Gryffindor table.

What had resulted was another topic of discussion: the loss of six hundred points from Gryffindor. Their hourglass in the entrance hall was filled with black onyx gems, negative points, which only the Headmaster or Deputy Head could assign. Every student who passed by the glass was hushed by awe.

Lastly, Fred and George, the twin Beaters, had been thrown off the Gryffindor Quidditch team. Harry was a bit elated at that news. Those two were deadly with a Bludger when it counted. With less than a week to go before the first match of the season, Gryffindor didn't stand a chance now. Flint, Bletchley, and the rest of his teammates were similarly high-spirited. So joyous was Flint that he went over to thank Percy personally.

There were no classes, being that it was Sunday, and with no homework to do, Harry wanted to go see if he could visit with Draco. After wheedling Madam Pomfrey for nearly ten minutes, he finally got her to agree to a quick, quiet visit - emphasis on the quiet. To his intense surprise, Percy Weasley was sitting with Draco, talking softly to the younger boy.

"'Lo, Weasley," Harry said by way of greeting, not really knowing how he should act.

He got a nod in return. "Potter."

"How is he?" Harry asked.

"Still unconscious," Weasley replied. "Madam does not expect that he shall be too much longer in waking, however. She's a miracle worker, and thank God for that."

Harry was silent for a long moment. "What really happened, Weasley? There's stories flying all over the school, but I want you to tell me."

"And I think you should mind your own business," Weasley said half-heartedly. "But very well. Some juvenile behaviour got out of hand, and your friend here got the brunt of it. I came across the event and stopped it. End of story."

Harry was sceptical. "Surely there's more to it than that," he suggested.

Weasley gave him a withering gaze. "What makes you say that?"

"Palce saw Snape dragging you through the corridors last night. Care to tell me what that was about?" Harry threw Weasley a sly look.

"First of all, Professor Snape was not dragging me. I was merely accompanying him to his office. Second, Potter, if I had any guilt in the matter, do you think I'd still have my prefect's badge? Third, you will respect a prefect, or it will be detention for you," Weasley snapped. He stood up and straightened his robes. "Good day."

Harry watched the boy flounce out of the hospital wing in a huff. "Something sure flew up his knickers," he muttered. He was about to turn to Draco when Madam Pomfrey came bustling over in her starched cap and apron.

"Visiting time is over, Mister Potter," she declared.

"But Ma'am!" Harry protested. He hadn't even gotten to visit with Draco yet.

"No 'but's, Potter. Out with you now. You can come back again tomorrow."

Grumbling, but taking care not to let her hear what he was saying, Harry slouched through the door. Miserable, pompous ass that Weasley was, he'd taken up all the time that Harry might have sat with his friend.

After lunch and before Transfiguration on Monday, Harry and the others rushed up to the hospital wing, laden down with book bags as they were, to visit Draco again. Madam Pomfrey took one cold look at them and peremptorily ordered them all out again.

"Mister Malfoy needs _rest_, children, and he cannot get it if entire gaggles of noisy youths insist on gawping at him."

Appeals did not move her, and Harry wisely prevented Pansy from making any threats. Disappointed, they had no choice but to leave.

The next day, Draco finally came out of his induced coma. During the free period before lunch, Harry had passed on heading back to the dungeons to shower after Herbology. Playing a hunch, he detoured up to the hospital wing.

"Madam?" he said, pushing open the door.

A cough from the bed drew his attention.

"Draco!" he exclaimed, hurrying to his friend's side. "Gosh, you look weak as a kitten!"

"You're too kind," Draco rejoindered. "What day is it?"

"Tuesday."

Draco arched one eyebrow. "I appear to have missed a few things. Catch me up?"

As Harry launched into the story, Madam Pomfrey stopped by on her rounds. She gave Harry a stern warning with only a look. Harry swallowed hard and nodded solemnly. He fully understood that Draco needed rest.

"So I wasn't hallucinating when I thought I saw Percy that night," Draco said half to himself. For purposes of the story, they had used the Weasleys given names. Saying 'Weasley' over and over again had gotten too confusing.

"No, he's the one who stopped everything and reported the incident," Harry reiterated.

"Bring him to me," Draco suddenly requested.

Harry jumped. "What?"

"Go find Percy Weasley; tell him I want to see him."

This made little sense. "Why?"

"Because I suspect that the great pillock saved my life," Draco told him. "As much as it pains me, I owe him."

Harry didn't have all that much trouble finding Percy. During lunch, the red-haired prefect was sitting all by himself at the Gryffindor table. That was odd. Harry could have sworn that the git had _some_ friends. He glanced over at the hourglasses. Then again, maybe not.

"Goyle," he said to get the boy's attention.

"Yeah?" Goyle had half a sandwich stuffed into his mouth. He washed it down with a glass of milk before virtually inhaling the other half.

"I'm talking a walk," Harry said. "You and Crabbe come with me."

"I'm eating!" Crabbe protested around a mouthful.

"Chew with your mouth closed," Blaise admonished him. "You're so crass."

"Eat later," Harry told him.

The sensation of having two hulking bodyguards hovering just behind him was very comforting for Harry as he walked across the Great Hall and deep into enemy territory. Without ceremony, he sat himself down across from the prefect, who was reading a book.

"Weasley, can I talk to you for a minute?" Harry asked. He might as well try to keep this civil.

"Yes, what is it, Potter?"

Well, at least it was a response. "Draco asked me to come find you and bring up to the hospital wing."

Weasley's head came up sharply. "Malfoy is awake?"

"Yes."

"Thank Merlin," he sighed. "And thank you for telling me." He made no move to rise.

Harry was not about to be put off that easily. "He wants to see you," he pressed.

Weasley's eyes flashed. "Patience, Potter; it is a virtue. Malfoy isn't going anywhere soon, and I'll see him after I finish my lunch."

Well, that was the best Harry could do. He'd delivered his message and now could leave. He started to stand up, but Weasley motioned him to wait a moment.

"I do hope this answers your questions about my being involved in such maleficent behaviour," he said quietly. "Next time, refrain from making accusations based on circumstantial evidence."

Harry flushed. "Sorry," he muttered.

"Accepted," Weasley said magnanimously.

The next words Harry spoke came with difficulty. "Turns out you were pretty heroic. You saved my best friend's life. Thanks."

Weasley's cheeks coloured slightly. "Thank you, Potter." He ate the last bite of his sandwich and put his book away. "Good day to you."

Two days later, things had pretty much quieted down. The sheer number of black gems in the Gryffindor hourglass still elicited comments, but for the most part, the Hogwarts grapevine moved on to other topics. Or perhaps it would be better to say that they moved back to a topic that had more or less been skipped.

It all started while the second year Slytherins and Hufflepuffs were filing into the History of Magic classroom. Quite by accident, Harry was walking near Hermione Granger. The prissy know-it-all was babbling on at a mile a minute.

"There's no copies of _Hogwarts, A History_ in the library," she complained. "They've all been checked out. And I didn't have enough room in my trunk to bring my copy. I had to leave it at home."

"What do you need to look up?" Jones asked. Her voice was light, and it seemed a laugh bubbled right under the surface. "Don't you have that book memorized?"

"Really," Finch-Fletchley joked. "I don't know how many times I've heard you say, 'Well, according to _Hogwarts, A History_'."

Granger stuck out her tongue at them. "You two can both bugger off. If you would open it up once in awhile and learn something, I wouldn't need to keep quoting it."

Today's lecture was just as boring as every other lecture. Professor Binns, their only ghost professor, entered the classroom by gliding through the blackboard as he always did. The shrivelled teacher's routine never varied. He opened his notes and began to read in a flat drone like an old vacuum cleaner until nearly everyone in the class was in a deep stupor. He had been speaking for half an hour when something happened that had never happened before. Granger put up her hand.

Professor Binns, glancing up in the middle of a deadly dull lecture on the International Warlock Convention of 1289, looked amazed.

"Miss, er-?"

"Granger, Professor. I was wondering if you could tell us anything about the Chamber of Secrets," she said in a clear voice.

Blaise, who had been staring out the window, jerked out of her trance. Pansy's head came up off her folded arms. Millie's elbow slipped off her desk.

Professor Binns blinked.

"My subject is History of Magic," he said in his dry, wheezy voice. "I deal with _facts_, Miss Granger, not in myths and legends." He cleared his throat with a small noise like chalk snapping and continued with his lecture. "In September of that year, a subcommittee of Sardinian sorcerers-"

He stuttered to a halt. Granger's hand was waving in the air again.

"Miss Grant?"

"Please, sir, don't legends always have a basis in fact?"

Professor Binns was looking at her in amazement. Harry was sure that no student had ever interrupted him before, alive or dead.

"Well," said Professor Binns slowly, "yes, one could argue that, I suppose." He peered at Granger as though he had never seen a student properly before. "However, the legend of which you speak is such a very _sensational_ tale, even _ludicrous_, that-"

But the whole class was now hanging on Professor Binns' every word. He looked dimly at them all, every face turned to his. Harry could tell he was completely thrown by such an unusual display of interest.

"Oh, very well," he declared. "Let me see, the Chamber of Secrets. You all know, of course, that Hogwarts was founded over a thousand years ago, though the precise date is uncertain, by the four greatest witches and wizards of the age. The four school Houses are named for them. They were Godric Gryffindor, Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw, and Salazar Slytherin. They built this castle together, far from the prying eyes of Muggles, for it was an age when magic was feared by common people, and witches and wizards suffered much persecution."

He paused, noted that all the students were riveted to their seats, and continued.

"For a few years, the founders worked in harmony together, seeking out youngsters who showed signs of magic and bringing them to the castle to be educated. But then disagreements sprang up between them. A rift began to grow between Slytherin and the others. Slytherin wished to be more _selective_ about the students admitted to Hogwarts. He believed that magical learning should be kept within all-magic families. He disliked taking students of Muggle parentage, believing them to be untrustworthy. After a while, there was a serious argument on the subject between Slytherin and Gryffindor, and Slytherin left the school."

Professor Binns paused again, gathering his thoughts. He pursed his lips, looking like a wrinkled old tortoise.

"Reliable historical sources tell us this much," he noted. "But these honest facts have been obscured by the fanciful legend of the Chamber of Secrets. The story goes that Slytherin had built a hidden chamber in the castle, of which the other founders knew nothing. Slytherin, according to the legend, sealed the Chamber of Secrets so that none would be able to open it until his own true heir arrived at the school. The heir alone would be able to unseal the Chamber of Secrets, unleash the horror within, and use it to purge the school of all who were unworthy to study magic."

Silence reigned as he told the story, but it wasn't the usual sleepy silence that dominated Professor Binns' lectures. There was unease in the air as everyone continued to watch him. This was a very creepy ghost story, and they wanted more. Professor Binns looked faintly annoyed.

"The whole thing is errant nonsense, of course," he declared. "Naturally, the school has been searched many times for evidence of such a hidden chamber, searched by the most learned witches and wizards, I might add. It does not exist. It is a tale told to frighten the gullible."

Granger's hand went back in the air. "Sir? What exactly do you mean by 'the horror within' the Chamber?"

"The horror is believed to be some sort of monster, which only the Heir of Slytherin can control," Professor Binns explained in his reedy voice.

The class exchanged anxious looks.

"I tell you, the thing does not exist," Professor Binns said, shuffling his notes. "There is no Chamber and no monster."

"But, sir," said Ernie Macmillan, "if the Chamber can only be opened by Slytherin's true heir, no one else _would_ be able to find it, would they?"

"Nonsense, Macmillan," Professor Binns scoffed. "If a long succession of headmasters and headmistresses haven't found the thing-"

"But, Professor," piped up Hannah Abbott, "you'd probably have to use Dark Magic to open it, and-"

"Just because a wizard doesn't _use_ Dark Magic doesn't mean he _can't_, Miss Adam," Professor Binns snapped. "I repeat, if the likes of Dumbledore-"

"Maybe you've got to be related to Slytherin, so Dumbledore couldn't-" Megan Jones began, but Professor Binns had had enough.

"That will do!" he said sharply. "It is a myth! It does not exist! There is not a shred of evidence that Slytherin ever built so much as a secret broom cupboard! I regret telling you such a foolish story! We will return to _history_, to solid and verifiable _facts_.

And within five minutes, the class had sunk back into its usual torpor.

As they awaited the arrival of Professor Snape, Harry took the time to glare at Weasley belligerently. His attitude was insolent. He wanted Weasley to say something, to make a move. Oh the satisfaction he would get from using Weasley's tongue to clean the floor. The continued presence of him and his siblings, in light of what they had done to Draco, was a gross insult to Slytherin House. How they had not been expelled was anybody's guess.

Today's class would be a double session, and they would be brewing. In the last lecture, Snape had lectured them extensively about the properties of the ingredients. Now they would actually be making the Deflating Draught.

Snape arrived and theatrically slammed the door behind him. "Well, what are you waiting for?" he demanded. "You know what we're doing today. Snap to it!"

As they began bustling, Harry went back to the cabinet that held the student supplies. They were out of wormwood. "Professor?" he said. "There's no wormwood in the cupboard."

Snape looked very unhappy. "Weasley," he called out, a warning plain to hear. "Why is there no wormwood in the student stores?"

Weasley, who had been talking with Neville Longbottom, looked up like a deer caught in a spotlight. He visibly swallowed. "Sorry, sir," he said. "I'll go get some." He practically ran out of the room.

Harry was confused. Since when was Weasley Snape's drudge? He turned to Parvati Patil, who was also retrieving some ingredients. "Oi, Patil. What's that about?"

Patil looked at him quizzically. "You haven't heard? Not only did he lose a hundred-fifty points thanks to his stupid little stunt, but he's also got detention until February."

Whoa. Intense. "Detention," Harry repeated. "With Snape?" he guessed.

"Yup."

"Ouch," was all he could say. He wondered who had made that decision. Snape hated Weasley, but a worse punishment probably couldn't be found. Well, except detention with Lockhart.

"Yes, he has to set up the lab every morning, clean everything up at night." Parvati glared at the git as he hurried back with the wormwood. He avoided her gaze and went quickly back to his own workbench.

"I wish they'd just expelled him," she complained. "Then we might actually have a chance at the House Cup this year. Well, back to it."

Once they knew that Weasley was Snape's new gopher, the cleverest of the Slytherins immediately went to raid the student supplies. Why bother using their own ingredients when they could make Weasley fetch more?

"Oh, Professor!" Blaise called out innocently. There were no more nettles. Snape sent Weasley out to get more. In short order, they ran out of daisy roots and grasshopper wings as well. Each time, Weasley had to leave off his own work and run down to storage.

When the end of the period arrived, everyone was able to turn in a finished product except for Weasley. He was still frantically trying to get the solution to turn yellow as Snape made his rounds.

The frown on Snape's face was worth a thousand insults. "Not finished, Weasley?" he asked. "Well, I suppose you'll just have to try again," he said. "_After_ you clean up the place." Levitating the cauldron with a flick of his wand and a whisper, Snape sent it to the sink, where it tipped over, pouring out the unfinished contents.

Weasley's face sank. "Yes, sir," he muttered. He fetched a sponge and bucket from under the sink and began to prepare for his detention.

Harry was in high spirits as they left the classroom. "Say," he suggested, "anybody up for some Quidditch?"

to be continued...


	12. The Rogue Bludger

**They Shook Hands : Year Two**

An alternate (but realistic!) universe Harry Potter fic  
by Dethryl

**Chapter Twelve - The Rogue Bludger**

"Potter! Stop that! Stop that right now! I've caught yeh this time!"

Harry groaned. _Bugger. Of all the mornings._ For a day or so after the petrification of his beloved cat, the caretaker had been inconsolable, but soon the tears had given way to vigilante rage. Though he was usually only a minor annoyance, Filch was now omnipresent and glaring, ambushing innocent students with all sorts of obscene threats. Several students had already been slapped with detention (or worse) for assorted petty offences; Harry had hoped he wouldn't be joining them.

"What do yeh think yeh're doing?"

_Walking_. "Nothing, Mister Filch."

"I could hear yeh clear up the hall!"

Okay, that should not have been possible.

"I heard yeh breathing too loudly, muttering under your breath, casting evil Dark magic, assaulting innocent cats! My precious Missus Norris!"

Filch was clearly losing his mind. Insane or not though, he was building up a head of steam.

"Mister Filch, I did no such thing," Harry denied firmly. "I was with Mister Lucius Malfoy, one of the school governors, at the time of the attack."

Filch's snarl waned slightly. "Doesn't change what yeh're doing now," he blustered. He obviously wanted to drag Harry to his office and hang him up by his thumbs.

"I'm only on my way up to breakfast. I've got a Quidditch match today, Mister Filch. I can't be bothered with causing trouble."

"Watch your cheek, Potter."

"I will, sir. I'll just be going now. I can have Mister Malfoy stop by to have a chat with you about that night if you'd like. He's a reasonable man, and it would be no trouble."

"Get out of my sight, Potter!"

Gladly. Harry hurried away. It was times like these that Harry was glad to have friends in high places; anything that got him out of trouble was fine in his book.

The last minutes before a match were always unbearably tense. Despite his confidence in his team and in his own skills, Harry still felt butterflies fluttering around in his stomach. Perhaps that's why he had not been able to eat breakfast.

His uniform just didn't feel right for some reason. Twitching didn't help the robes sit any better. He reached up and scratched at his neck. For the hundredth time he wished they could just go out and play.

With a pair of two-week rookie Beaters, Gryffindor didn't stand a chance. To Harry, it seemed almost as though the match were a formality; they were really only determining how many points would added to Slytherin's hourglass in the castle entrance hall.

"Okay, team, we've got just a few minutes." It was time for Flint's pre-game pep talk; today, his voice was surprisingly calm. "We can do this. Wood is not going to have his team operating as a unit. We are better fliers, harder hitters, and stronger players. The first round at the pub is on me if we beat them by more than three hundred."

"What about if by four?" Bole called out cheekily.

"Shots of firewhiskey," Flint promised.

"Five?" Montague wanted to know.

"Do it and find out," Flint smirked. "Now let's go win!"

As they burst out into the muggy morning air, Harry plainly heard the roar of the crowd. "Here is the Slytherin team!" the announcer called. "Bletchley, Bole, Derrick, Flint, Montague, Potter, and Pucey!" Harry spiralled into the air, his emerald green Quidditch robes flaring out behind him.

Slytherin House had turned out in force to cheer on their team for this match: their section of the stands was a sea of green. In addition to the official scarves, many students sported patriotic green ribbons. A few even had old uniform robes inherited from siblings who had left Hogwarts.

As Harry passed over the waves of emerald Slytherin supporters, his eyes picked out Professor Snape and Mr. Malfoy in the staff section. The former had traded his traditional black for house colours, while the latter was dressed as expensively as usual; compared to him, the staff looked rather shabby (as usual). Harry's smile widened when he saw who sat next to Mr. Malfoy: Draco, still bandaged up, but grinning and waving nonetheless.

Harry took one hand off his Nimbus to wave back. Thank Merlin that Draco had recovered enough to come to the match. He would be as good as new in a few days, otherwise Madam Pomfrey wouldn't have let him out of her sight.

"And here comes the outstanding Gryffindor team!" Jordan crowed. "Bell, Frobisher, Johnson, Panning, Sharpp, Spinnet, and Wood! I'm sure Gryffindor's new Beaters are more than up to today's task! And, to thank for the loss of two of Gryffindor's heroes, sitting pretty with the Slytherins, I give you the traitorous Percy Weasley!"

Harry almost fell off his broom. Weasley was sitting with Slytherins? He supposed anything _was_ possible, but that was definitely something he'd never expected. He'd be more likely to find free-roaming Ice Mice in Hell.

As loud hisses and jeers arose from the scarlet section, there was an interruption in the commentary; McGonagall clapped her hand over the megaphone and, from the looks of it, gave Jordan an extremely thorough tongue-lashing. The black-skinned boy turned pale, and when she finally relinquished the megaphone, his voice was shaking.

Jordan wouldn't say anything positive about Slytherin anyway, no matter how spectacularly they performed: Gryffindors were biased like that. Harry resolved to tune out the commentary.

The teams landed to form a circle while the captains landed in the centre of the pitch for the traditional handshake. Flint and Wood stiffly attempted to crush the bones in each others' hands. Madam Hooch finally told them to break it up.

"Mount!" she ordered. Fourteen players swung a leg over their brooms and gripped the handles tight, tense and ready to tear the other side apart. The seconds seemed to stretch as she readied the Quaffle, regarded the teams, and finally, threw it up into the air- "Go!"

Gryffindor took first possession of the ball, and Flint must have felt personally offended. He set off after Bell like a hawk after a pigeon. Harry peered around looking for the Snitch. He flew higher than anyone else, but he wasn't afraid.

He wasn't afraid, that is, until a heavy black object went hurtling by his head at high speed. Harry ducked the Bludger just in time and felt it ruffle his hair as it sped by.

"Bole!" he shouted out.

Bole looked up and intercepted the Bludger, whacking it towards Spinnet, who dropped the Quaffle. Pucey snatched it and flew in an attack pattern towards the Gryffindor hoops.

"Go, Adrian!" Harry cheered. The first score would set the tone for the game.

"Harry, look out!"

He darted to his left and rolled. A Bludger went zooming by him again. That was odd. The other Bludger was on the far side of the pitch harassing Montague. Was that the same Bludger?

"Close one!" Derrick called as he flew by and whacked it towards Wood. It should have let Pucey and Flint make the score, but the Bludger changed direction in mid-air. Wood made the block and passed the Quaffle out to Johnson.

"Too close!" Harry agreed. "Was that the same one?"

"Yeah!" the Beater replied. "And here it comes again!"

Harry ducked to avoid it and was barely in time. Derrick whacked it again, and instead of striking Spinnet, it whipped around like a boomerang, coming for Harry again. Harry put on a burst of speed and darted for the other end of the pitch. He could hear the Bludger whistling along behind him. This didn't make any sense at all! Bludgers never concentrated on one player; their job was to try to unseat as many people as possible.

Bole was coming towards him at high velocity. The sound from his hit was tremendous. As the Beater started to cheer, the sound rattled and died in his throat. The Bludger was coming back towards Harry, like they were opposite poles of a magnet!

Drops of rain began to fall from the grey clouds, and Harry's vision started deteriorating. He couldn't see the Snitch, couldn't even look for it. He was too distracted to pay attention to the game. Only when Jordan announced the score did he learn that Slytherin was up only by ten points.

"This thing's been tampered with!" he gasped as he zoomed by Derrick again. "We need to call a time out!"

Derrick screamed in Flint's ear as the captain sailed by, and in a few seconds, Madam Hooch's whistle signalled a halt to the action. The team settled to the ground, and Flint looked askance at his Beaters.

"What's going on, Bole? Why aren't you and Derrick laying waste to those two rookies out there?" Flint sounded irritated, and Harry supposed that he had a right to be.

"Something is wrong with one of the Bludgers, Flint," Bole answered back. "It won't leave Harry alone. We're busy saving his neck up there."

"I can't manoeuvre," Harry complained. "I can't find the Snitch if I have to keep two eyes on a Bludger."

"Nobody can tamper with a Bludger," Flint told them. "I'm sure you're imagining things."

"I didn't imagine nearly getting decapitated three times in less than a minute!" Harry shouted. "We have to stop the match and get an inquiry."

"I'm not going to forfeit to a team with only five experienced players!" Flint exploded. "It's humiliating! Potter, you find that damned Snitch, or I'll see you hanging by your toes from the ceiling in the Great Hall!"

Harry ground his teeth. "Fine," he snapped. "Bole, can you stick with me?"

Bole shook his head. "Your broom is too fast," he admitted. "This One Thousand just can't keep up with your Deuce."

"Who has the fastest broom?" Harry demanded. "If Bole or Derrick can follow me and keep that Bludger away, I can find the Snitch and end this cursed match."

"None of us can match your Two Thousand," Miles Bletchley told him bluntly. "It just won't work."

Harry bit his lip. He could see Madam Hooch walking over. The game would have to resume soon. "Give me a bat," he demanded.

"What?" Flint's eyes went wide.

"Give me a bloody bat!" Harry hissed at him. "There's nothing in the rules that says I can't carry one, is there?"

"Well no, but-"

"Flint, give him the sodding bat! If we can't defend him, he can help himself!" Derrick wiped water off his face. "Let's get this blasted game over with before we drown."

Harry accepted the Beater's bat that Flint handed to him. "Don't get yourself killed out there," was the captain's terse final instruction.

"Ready to resume?" Madam Hooch asked as she broke into their little circle. Her eyes rested briefly on the bat in Harry's hands, but she let it pass without comment.

"We're ready," Flint replied.

"_Impervius!_" Harry knew that clear vision would be essential to staying alive up in the sky. Protecting his glasses was non-negotiable

As the whistle blew, Harry sensed the Bludger sneaking up on him. He pulled his broom up and spun in the air, whacking it with the bat as hard as he could. It went flying off - and in the distance, he could see the Snitch!

"Potter has just used a Beater's bat to whack a Bludger," Jordan was announcing. "I didn't know the rules allowed Seekers to carry bats, but Madam Hooch has not penalized Slytherin, so it must be allowed. Trust a Slytherin to find a way to cheat within the rules."

If Harry survived this, he was going to take a personal pleasure in ripping Jordan's guts out.

He pointed his broom and took off after the Snitch. All he had to do was catch it and this match would be over. It headed for the stands, and Harry had no choice but to pursue. Precious time was lost as Harry had to spin and hit the Bludger again. The Snitch got that much further ahead of him. He zoomed past Draco in the stands and in a flash of inspiration, called out, "Help!"

Professor Snape was on his feet instantly. Mr. Malfoy also stood up and drew his wand. Harry lost sight as the Bludger arced back towards him. The Snitch was there, right in front of him! If only that demented Bludger would stay off him for a few more seconds!

KABOOM!

There was a thunderous detonation, like a cannon in a Muggle war film. The explosion was deafening; Harry's broom bucked in the shock wave. As he was propelled end over end, Harry felt the Snitch slap into his hand, and he closed his fist tightly. He held onto the little golden ball for dear life as wind whistled past his ears, and he plummeted towards the ground.

Snap! As his left leg broke, Harry felt hot fire sear through his body. He gasped involuntarily and inhaled a mouthful of mud. Choking, spitting, he pushed the pain aside and held up the Snitch. The match was over. He slumped back on the grass, drawing heaving breaths through teeth clenched against agony.

"Harry! Harry!"

Suddenly there were people all around him. Madam Hooch took the Snitch from his clenched fingers. Professor Snape was peering into his eyes. Mr. Malfoy was casting a spell of some sort.

"His leg is broken," the wizard reported. "He needs immediate medical attention."

"Allow me!" a pompous voice ordered loudly.

"No!" Harry protested weakly, struggling to sit up. "Not you. I'll keep it like it is."

"The dear boy is delirious; doesn't know what he's saying," Professor Lockhart dismissed Harry's objections.

Mr. Malfoy's wand was now pointed at Lockhart. "You will not touch the boy!" he declared in a quiet voice. "You are no trained Healer."

"The spell is simplicity in itself-"

"Silence!" Malfoy thundered.

There was a sudden clicking noise, and Harry was half-blinded by a sudden bright flash. "No pictures," he babbled. "No pictures, please."

"Boy! What are you about?"

"M-my name is C-creevey, sir. I'm photographing the match, and-"

"Away with you! This is no time to be stupid! Someone has been injured!"

Professor Snape was fixing Creevey with his stare of doom. He turned to a green-scarfed student whom Harry was too delirious to recognize. "Dolohov, fetch Madam Pomfrey. Run."

"Yes, sir!"

"Everything will be fine, Harry," Mr. Malfoy was saying reassuringly. "_Dolor ut mentis!_"

"It hurts," he whimpered.

"Don't think about it. Think about History class. Binns is droning on and on about the Goblin Rebellion of Sixteen-Twelve."

Harry struggled to put the pain aside. The rebellion had been planned in the Hog's Head Inn. It had been bloody and violent. Two of the chief goblins had been Bodrod the Bearded and Urg the Unclean.

His eyes were getting heavy, so very heavy. This wasn't normal. He was slipping into the darkness. The pain seemed so very far away. There was a bright light above him. Harry came back to himself in a sudden instant. Instinctively, he tried to sit up, but firm hands held him down.

"Easy, Harry, easy. I've numbed the pain, but you can still damage yourself. Madam Pomfrey is on her way," Mr. Malfoy informed him.

"Madam Pomfrey is here now," the mediwitch said as she knelt down next to Harry. She waved her wand and cast diagnostic spells. "An interesting choice of spell, Mister Malfoy. All the nerves have been deadened. I'll be able to fix him up right as rain. And speaking of rain, let's get out of it. Mark my words, there'll be head colds by the dozen! And you, young Malfoy! Back to the hospital wing at once! Your holiday is over!"

Madam immobilized his body, and Harry was lifted on a cushion of air and directed towards the castle. The crowd began to disperse, and Jordan made one final announcement:

"Harry Potter has caught the Snitch through some, er, _unusual_ circumstances, and Slytherin wins the match by one hundred ninety points to thirty."

After a brief period of attention by Madam Pomfrey, Harry's leg was supposedly good as new. He wouldn't know, of course; he couldn't feel it. Mr. Malfoy's spell had taken away all his pain. It did mean, though, that he had to stay in bed until the leg would respond again.

Draco lay in the next bed over, still sporting a few bandages, and Harry was glad that he could spend some unrushed time with his best mate, even if the accommodations were a bit austere.

"These pyjamas do itch so," Draco complained.

"You get used to it," Harry told him. "At least you got to escape them for a bit. How by Hogwarts did you convince her to let to you go the match?"

"_I_ didn't convince her of anything," Draco drawled. "I simply told Father that I wanted to see Slytherin demolish Gryffindor, and he arranged it. Nice flying out there, by the way."

"Thanks. I just wish I knew what had possessed that Bludger."

"There wasn't much left to it," Draco admitted. "It was pretty much annihilated by Father's spell."

"And no way to check it for tampering," Harry groused.

"Probably not," Draco agreed. "But who cares? Up Slytherin!"

"Up Slytherin!" Harry cheered.

Someone made a harrumphing noise. Harry leaned over to see Weasley's baby sister kneeling on the floor scrubbing at the tile with a brush.

"Oi, Draco, it's one of your bloody attackers," Harry sneered.

"Which?" Draco asked. "I'll get my wand."

"The girl."

"I never did like her."

"I can see why, with a name like 'The girl' Weasley."

"Oh stop it!" she told them crossly. "My name is Ginny."

"You have names? I thought Weasleys just had numbers," Harry drawled.

"Shut up."

"Got a spot of detention, have you?" Draco asked brightly.

"Leave me alone."

"You didn't leave me alone!" he snapped. "I think you deserve far, far worse than detention!"

Ginny flushed as red as her hair. "Wasn't my idea," she muttered. She continued scrubbing at the tile.

"I fully intend to drown your miserable brother in a vat of glue," Draco glowered.

"Which one?" she said half-heartedly.

"Ronald," he ground out between clenched teeth. "It was his idea, wasn't it?"

Ginny didn't answer. She pushed her bucket of soapy water a few feet and continued scrubbing tile.

"You missed a spot," Draco taunted.

"No, I didn't," she denied.

Draco tossed his water glass on the floor where she'd been kneeling. "Yes, you did."

The glass shattered. "Stop that!" Ginny shrieked in outrage.

"Make me," Draco invited her.

Ginny glared up at the blond Slytherin. She drew her wand, pointed it at the shards without looking, and uttered, "_Reparo!_" She placed the restored drinking vessel on a table and used her rag to soak up the water.

"Madam Pomfrey!" Draco called out in a sing-song tone.

Seconds later, the mediwitch's starched cap and uniform marched into view. "Yes, Mister Malfoy?"

"How it is," Draco asked softly, "that one of my attackers is permitted to be in unsupervised proximity to my person whilst in possession of a wand?"

Madam Pomfrey drew a frown on her stern face. "Miss Weasley, what were you doing with your wand out?"

Ginny's face blanched. She stuttered for a moment, trying to come up with a good excuse.

"She knocked over the water glass," Harry said helpfully. "And then she repaired it."

"And then she pointed the wand at me," Draco exaggerated. "I simply won't stand for it."

"Miss Weasley, you are not authorized to do magic during your detention," the mediwitch reminded the girl. "Surrender your wand at once."

Her brown eyes filling with tears, Ginny handed over her wand. Madam Pomfrey tucked it away in a pocket of her robes.

"Now, back to work at once," she ordered. "Don't bother the patients again, or it will be extra work for you."

Harry and Draco winked at each other as Madam walked away. They could hear Ginny trying not to sniffle as she worked. When she was finally ordered to go take the sheets down to the laundry, Draco let go a small laugh.

"I enjoyed that," he confessed.

"If she'd attacked me, I don't know if I'd be so calm," observed Harry.

"She got her punishment. Gryffindor got some more of it. I'll take out my wrath on Ronald." Draco said the boy's name in an extremely sissy voice.

"He's having to endure the wrath of Snape," Harry smiled. "He's Snape's errand boy. Has to fetch things and scrub cauldrons; set up the lab and break it down at night. He won't have a spare moment in class if we have anything to say about it."

"I can live with the idea of forcing Weasley to fetch and carry," Draco chuckled and changed the subject. "So I've heard from Elan."

"How is he?" Harry asked. Draco's brother was one of the people Harry looked up to.

"He's got his knickers in quite a twist."

"Of course."

"He blames Father for not being here to protect me. Blames himself too."

"How could he have done anything?"

"If he'd been around, nobody would dare to touch me," Draco told him. "Not even the Weasley collective is stupid enough to cross Elan."

"Ironic it was a Weasley who saved you."

"Elan says he near to puked when he heard. He ran roughshod over that pompous twit Percy for years. Damn Dumbledore anyway!"

"Percy's not such a bad fellow," Harry pointed out. "He _did_ save your neck, and he _did_ bring you a folder of his old notes, and he _has_ been ostracised by his house because of it all. Jordan humiliated him in front of the whole school at the match."

"Father has seen to it that Percy will be handsomely rewarded for his actions. And I've decided to lay off him. He was sitting with Jamie, Samuel, and Elan's other friends at the match, you know."

"I saw."

"So there might be some hope for him after all."

Harry fell silent for a few moments and shifted around. "Oi! My leg's not so numb, but now my bum's gone to sleep!"

The relative normality of the Quidditch match helped the mood of the castle recover from the funk it had been in since Halloween. The students had been lurking around the school like children in a house after their parents have been fighting. There was laughter in the halls again as nearly every boy and girl discussed the fine Quidditch match.

After being released from the hospital wing, Harry returned to the Slytherin dormitory and relaxed with his friends. He joined Crabbe, Millie, and Jenna for a game of Exploding Snap. Tim questioned him endlessly about the rogue Bludger, and he finally left to go raid the library. Blaise seemed to need constant reassurance that Harry was unhurt, and her touches on his shoulder or arm made him smile.

The celebration of the victory that night was boisterous. The match had been a contest between Chasers, so there was plenty of discussion and re-enactment of the plays. As a result, most of the attention focused on Flint, Pucey, and Montague. Harry was glad to sit to the side and enjoy the treats the older students had pilfered from the kitchen.

The sixth and seventh year students hatched a scheme to decorate the entrance to the Gryffindor dormitory with Slytherin colours. The Head Boy, Abraham Montague, was bursting with pride in his younger brother, and he readily acceded to Flint's suggestion for some pranking. The five boys ducked out of the party early.

Harry still felt tired, so he turned in before his customary time. He was slumbering quite soundly when he was shaken awake most rudely. His head fuzzy, he peered up from the pillow.

"Harry," Draco said urgently. "Get up. There's been another attack!"

Harry's eyes snapped open. "Draco?"

"No, I'm fine. Listen! I couldn't sleep, but I heard Dumbledore and McGonagall bringing a statue into the hospital wing."

That didn't make much sense. "What?"

"Old McGonagall brought Madam Pomfrey, but she couldn't do anything. He was petrified, just like Filch's cat!"

Another attack! "Who?"

"That Gryffindor Mudblood with the camera," Draco sneered. "Stupid fool tried to take a _picture_ of what it was, can you believe? He didn't try to run, but he starts clicking away. Whatever it was fried the film. Dumbledore opened the camera up and this awful-smelling smoke poured out."

"What?"

"I couldn't stay another minute. After Madam went back to bed, I snuck out and back where it's safe."

"You won't be very safe when she finds out," Harry observed. "And what is this talk of 'safe'?" he scoffed. "Your blood is beyond pure."

"I don't like murderous beasts that are not on my payroll."

"First a cat, now a student," Harry mused. "Who could be behind it all?"

"The Heir of Slytherin," Draco shrugged.

"But who is that?"

"Do you remember what Snape said? We should keep our noses out of it."

"But that first year has been petrified!"

"He was a Mudblood, and a Gryffindor besides. No great loss."

Harry considered that. In the grand scheme of things, what did it really matter if there was one less Gryffindor?

"I just wish I knew who it was," Draco sighed. "I'd offer to help, and my first choice of a target would be Granger."

to be continued...


	13. The Duelling Club

**They Shook Hands : Year Two**

An alternate (but realistic!) universe Harry Potter fic  
by Dethryl

**Chapter Thirteen - The Duelling Club**

The news of a student being petrified spread through the school like wildfire. The brief sense of normality vanished, and an atmosphere of fear took its place. Younger students sought safety in numbers, not traversing the halls in groups of less than five. The whole population of Hogwarts was on edge, sans Slytherin of course.

Choir attendance dropped sharply, but the Slytherins refused to shirk their duty and sang louder and better in the absence of their fellows. On their way to rehearsal, the Slytherins would detour past the Gryffindor entrance singing songs about chickens, turkeys, or swine. As time went on, the other Houses came back around. Choir was a safe place to be, and leaving the dorm only for classes or to visit the library could rapidly drive even a studious Ravenclaw absolutely batty.

Almost overnight, an underground trade in protective charms, amulets, and talismans sprang into existence. Playing on their long and distinguished pedigrees, Ellen Pritchard and Lila Murdock made a pile of Galleons in only a few days; they told stories of those they had hoodwinked every night in the common room before bedtime. Harry was particularly amused when he heard that Neville Longbottom had bought a large, rotting green onion, a pointy bit of purple glass, and a decaying newt tail from the pair.

"I thought Longbottom was pure of blood," he said speculatively.

"Quite right," Tim confirmed. "But he's practically a Squib, you know. Little bleeder must be pissing his sheets at night worrying that the Heir is coming for him."

"Is there any way we could sneak into Gryffindor and scare him a bit? That would be a jolly good prank." Millie was always ready for a sneaky bit of fun.

"Not unless we knew the password," Pansy shook her head. "And we'll never get it from them."

"Never say never," Draco said sagely.

All through the castle, tales continued to spread about Percy Weasley. According to the rumour mill, he was the son of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named given up for adoption at birth. He regularly had tea with Filch while they plotted ambushes of innocent students. Weasley was also Snape's brown-noser, apple-polisher, and secret boyfriend.

Harry was simply disgusted by the situation. How could people just make judgements on something they knew nothing about? Poor Weasley had been put in a difficult spot and had ultimately done the right thing. For that, he had been daemonized and was suffering persecution at the hands of those who were supposed to be his friends, his family at Hogwarts.

It was impossible to keep track of the number of tricks and malicious pranks played on the prefect in the span of only one month. In addition to the humiliation inflicted on him at the Quidditch match, he'd been assaulted with green dye, thrown in the lake, and roughed up by Oliver Wood. Gryffindor's team captain had taken the loss of his star Beaters somewhat badly and was taking out his frustrations on the cause.

Those stunts were just some of what Harry knew. And for every incident he heard about, there were surely a dozen more that he didn't. Yet even with all of this to consider, Harry was still shocked by what happened next.

The second year Slytherins had their weekly Astronomy sky watching session on Wednesday nights. The first Wednesday in December was delightfully clear, and Professor Sinistra's enthusiasm even infected Harry, who normally didn't care much for getting to stay up past curfew only to do school work. He emerged into the chill night air, wrapped his cloak tightly, and shiveringly reconsidered his enthusiasm.

The professor gave the class their instructions, then set them to work as she retired to the classroom. Harry made a few half-hearted notes, but when he yawned wide enough to drive a lorry through, he leaned up against the parapet and thought longingly of his warm bed.

Something was digging into his back, and it wasn't the stones. It felt like rope. It _was_ rope! What the heck? Harry peeked out over the edge and gasped in shock. There, hanging upside down and dangling by a rope tied about his ankles, was Percy Weasley.

"By God!" Harry breathed. "Look!"

Draco happened to be closest, and he inhaled sharply when he saw the helpless prefect. "Pansy, go get Professor Sinistra," he ordered.

"Send Crabbe," she disdained.

"Do as I say!" he snapped, flashing an evil scowl in her direction. Too shocked for a retort, she descended the stairs.

"Crabbe, Goyle, Millie, grab the rope. Pull him up. Easy now! Help me, Harry!"

Hand over hand, the younger students arduously hauled the older boy to the top of the tower. Harry, Draco, and Tim all grabbed Percy's robes and eased him over the rampart. As gently as they could, they laid him on the stone floor.

The prefect didn't look good. All the blood had rushed to his head, and his face was nearly purple. The gag in his mouth explained why nobody had heard him yelling. His eyes were unfocused, and he didn't seem to recognize them. Harry removed the boy's gag while Tim untied the rope from his ankles and wrists.

"Weasley," Draco said. "Weasley, are you hurt?"

Percy didn't respond.

"Right, what's all this then?" Finally, Professor Sinistra had returned.

"We found him, professor," Harry told her. "Somebody left him dangling from the top."

Sinistra's eyes narrowed. "Monstrous," she declared. She muttered a quick spell under her breath. "Madam Pomfrey is on her way. I'll take Weasley down below. You lot finish your sky watching."

Of all the- "Professor!" Harry protested.

"No complaining," she chided him. "Back to work."

"Yes, ma'am," he grumbled. How could he possibly be expected to focus on the stars when there was a mystery afoot much closer to the ground?

Professor Sinistra tapped Weasley's body with her wand and levitated the boy down the stairs. When she was gone, Harry shoved his notes aside. "I can't believe that someone would treat a school prefect like a yo-yo!"

"No doubt some disgruntled Gryffindors are behind it. And that they get away with it makes me sick."

"Gryffindors get away with _everything_, Tim," Blaise said glumly.

"Isn't that the truth?" Harry commiserated. "Percy's a decent chap. He doesn't deserve the hell they're putting him through."

"Somebody ought to do something about it," Jenna decided. "It's just not right."

"By 'somebody', you mean us, right?" Millie laughed.

"I wish Elan were here." Draco looked up at the stars. "He'd have some ideas."

"You think old McGonagall will punish those responsible?" Pansy asked. "Weasley's one of her favourites."

"She hasn't done anything yet, and this stupidity has gone on for a month already." Tim had a good point.

"Maybe she can't figure out who's responsible."

"Isn't it obvious, Jenna?" he asked rhetorically. "Those twin brothers of his are still sore over being banned from Quidditch. Their captain certainly won't be over it; we all know what a fanatic Wood is. Those three have got to be at the core of it all."

The next night in the common room, Sam Palce called for everyone's attention. He was a prefect, so his request was granted with only a little bit of good-natured jeering. He climbed up the stairs so he could be seen and heard more easily.

"Last night, Percy Weasley, saver of young Slytherins in distress, was assaulted by members of his own House," he announced. An ugly murmuring broke out amongst his audience, with good reason: House was family.

"As most of you know, we sixth years have made friends with Weasley, and we think him quite the decent bloke." That was certainly true. Weasley regularly ate and studied with the Slytherin sixth years. "His House has all but exiled him, and we have decided to take him in. Get used to seeing him around here, because he's moving in."

"Couldn't you find a stray cat to adopt instead?" someone teased him.

"It's a bit unusual, Margaret," Palce admitted, "but I submit the following for your consideration: Weasley is a pureblood; he has ambition to rise above his current lot in life; he saved one of our own. We sixth years think he would be a fine addition to Slytherin House."

"Is that even allowed?" Bole's younger sister Amanda asked.

The Head Boy, Abraham Montague, stood up. "I know of no instance in the history of Hogwarts where such a thing has happened," he declared, "but I believe this to be an extraordinary circumstance. If Weasley is driven out of his House, logically he must go to another. Why should it _not_ be Slytherin that benefits? With all apologies to Sam, Weasley is most likely to be named Head Boy next year. Let's keep the power in the House."

"Does anyone have any legitimate objections?" Palce asked them all. "If so, let's hear it."

"He did betray his own siblings," pointed out Heather Chandler, a fourth year.

"Siblings who ganged up on a younger student," retorted Lynn Fawcett. "Thank Merlin he _did_ betray them, or we would have one less Slytherin."

"Percy's actions speak _highly_ of his character, not negatively," Draco declared, rising to his feet. "Let's recall what happened as a result of that night: He saved the life of a Slytherin, me; Gryffindor lost more points than anyone could imagine; their Quidditch team lost two very skilled Beaters."

"All good things," Flint agreed heartily.

"Moreover, I've come to know Percy this past month," Palce continued. "Betraying his own blood was heart-breaking to him, as it should be. If his oath as a prefect meant even a little bit less, I doubt he could have."

"I'd just like to point out that Professor Snape has given his approval," Lawrence Derrick told them. "If he trusts Weasley, I think we can too."

There was silence as the Slytherins all looked sideways at each other. "Any more objections?" Palce asked. There were none. "Then it shall be so."

"Just make sure you give him plenty of food and water," laughed Flint.

"And don't forget to change the shavings in his cage!" Miles hooted.

Palce laughed with the rest of them at that. As the students all resumed their activities, he and Derrick left the common room on some evening mission. They returned an hour or so later, bringing with them all of Percy's belongings in one trip. Apparently the prefect didn't own much, but nobody made even one comment.

With great ceremony, the sixth years ritually burned each one of the school ties in the Gryffindor colours. Anything that was a link to the past fed the flames of the fire in the Slytherin common room. Come the next weekend visit to Hogsmeade, Percy's new friends intended to drag him to a haberdashery for some new robes with the Slytherin crest.

Percy made the transition to Slytherin surprisingly well. It wasn't much of a jump from associating only with Slytherins (since the rest of the school would have nothing to do with him) to bunking in the Slytherin dormitory. Before the first week was out, it seemed as though he'd always been a part of the House. Though the green and silver tie clashed horribly with his red hair, in everything from his attitude to his mannerisms, he could have been declared a Slytherin by the Sorting Hat.

His smiles seemed more genuine somehow, and there was a light in his eyes that bespoke of his growing inner happiness. The rest of the school, unfortunately, was not so content. In the span of a week, there were two more attacks, and two students were petrified. Nicholas Fiffy and David Moreau, both Hufflepuffs, were found in mysterious circumstances. The teachers were quick to hush things up, but the word spread even more quickly that the legends appeared true: The Heir of Slytherin had returned to Hogwarts.

When the Heads of House went around during the second week of December collecting the names of those who would be staying at school for Christmas, it seemed that the only students who dared to remain were from Slytherin. Even most of these were leaving, to spend the holiday with family. Harry was quick to sign, knowing that there was no other place for him to go.

"Wish I could figure out how to trick the Muggles into signing permission to leave school," he grumbled to Jenna as they walked up to the Great Hall for their Thursday breakfast ritual. He never called them by name any more.

"Things will turn out right," she assured him. "You just have to have faith."

There was a small knot of people gathered around the notice board in the entrance hall. A new announcement had been posted, and every student was chattering excitedly. Harry elbowed his way close enough to read the parchment and felt his own interest pique.

"They're starting a Duelling Club!" he exclaimed. "The first meeting is Saturday night."

"Sounds like fun," Jenna nodded. "Formal duelling lessons? Not just playing at it in an empty classroom? Outstanding."

"I wouldn't mind duelling lessons," a Ravenclaw boy was saying.

"What, do you think Slytherin's monster can duel?" his friend retorted.

"I'm going," Harry decided. He borrowed a quill and signed his name on the parchment.

And so too did the rest of his friends. At eight o'clock on Saturday night, the nine young Slytherins hurried to the Great Hall. The long dining tables had vanished, and a golden stage had appeared along one wall, lit by thousands of candles floating overhead. The ceiling was velvety black once more, and roughly half of the student body seemed to be packed into the room. Every student carried a wand, and everyone looked very excited.

"At least now we can finally find out who's going to be teaching us," Tim noted with some relief. They had speculated for days.

"I still think it's going to be Flitwick," Blaise said as they elbowed through the chattering crowd. "I hear he's a former champion."

"I bet Professor Snape would be brilliant," Jenna pointed out.

"If he was in charge, maybe we'd be using Weasley for a target." Goyle liked that idea immensely.

"As long as it's not-" Harry started to say, but broke into a groan as Gilderoy Lockhart walked onto the stage, resplendent in robes of deep plum purple.

"It's not all bad," Draco nudged him. "Look, there's Snape."

Lockhart waved an arm for silence. "Gather round," he called. "Can you all see me? Can you all hear me?"

"Unfortunately," Jenna muttered.

"Now then, Professor Dumbledore has granted me permission to start this little duelling club in order to train you all in case you ever need to defend yourselves as I myself have done on countless occasions. For full details, see my published works.

"Allow me to introduce my assistant, Professor Snape," Lockhart waved his arm with flourish. "He tells me that he knows a bit about duelling himself and has sportingly agreed to help me with a short demonstration before we begin. Now, I don't want any of you to worry; your Potions Master will still be more or less in one piece when I'm done with him."

Snape's upper lip was curling. Harry wondered why Lockhart was still smiling. Was the light glancing off those brilliantly white teeth and directly into his eyes, blinding him? That look was usually enough to inspire any recipient to wet his robes with fear.

In the centre of the stage, Lockhart and Snape faced each other and bowed. That is to say, Lockhart bowed with great flourish and much twirling of the hands; Snape merely jerked his head irritably. They both raised their wands up in front of their faces and sharply swept them down and out at an angle. Each man turned sharply on his heel and stepped several paces away to the end of the stage.

"The traditional squaring-off is part of a formal duel," Lockhart lectured them. "It signifies the respect that each wizard has for the other."

That, obviously, meant that Snape had no respect for Lockhart. Harry could certainly sympathize.

"We shall now assume the accepted combative position," Lockhart told the now-silent crowd. He curled his left arm above his head; his wand held in his right was pointed at Snape. He looked silly, arm dangling in mid-air as it was. Snape, by contrast, also held his wand in his right hand, but he had that arm raised, ready to sweep down to release unspeakable wrath.

"On the count of three, we will cast our first spells. Of course, since this is only a demonstration, neither of us will be aiming to kill the other," Lockhart proclaimed pompously.

"I wouldn't bet on that," Harry murmured, watching Snape bare his teeth.

"One - two - three!"

Both men swung their wands and redirected them towards their opponents. Snape cried out, "_Expelliarmus!_" and a dazzling flash of scarlet light blasted Lockhart off his feet. He flew backward off the stage, smashed into the wall, and slid down to sprawl on the floor. His wand went soaring up into the air, and Snape called it to him with another spell: "_Accio _wand!"

Harry burst into applause. Draco, Tim, and most of the other Slytherins joined him. Only Pansy and a few of the third and fourth year girls frowned.

Pansy stood up on her tiptoes, peering over the crowd. "Do you think he's all right?" she squeaked.

"Who cares?" Harry and Jenna said together.

"I'm not quite sure who to cheer for," Terry Boot quipped, edging up to the group. He nodded in greeting as he too tried to see over the throng of students.

Lockhart rose unsteadily to his feet. His pointed hat had fallen off, and his normally immaculate hair was standing on end. "Well, there you have it," he said shakily as he clambered back onto the platform. "That was a Disarming Charm. As you can see, I have lost my wand. A most excellent idea to show them that, Professor Snape. If I could have my wand back, please? Though if you don't mind my saying so, it was very obvious what you intended to do. If I _had_ wanted to stop you, it would have been only too easy; however, I felt it would be instructive to let- them-"

The look on Snape's face could only be described as murderous. Possibly Lockhart had finally noticed, because he turned to the students. "I think that has been a suitable demonstration, so split off into pairs. We shall practice the Disarming Charm."

Harry took a step towards Draco, but was shoved away with a grin. "I'm going to go find Weasley."

Harry cursed for not having thought of it first. Then again, he supposed Draco had a right to seek some measure of personal revenge.

"Where's Granger?" Millie asked as she looked around. She had not forgotten the incident two days before when they had overheard the Mudblood telling her friends that all purebloods were inbred and ugly besides.

Harry looked around at his friends. Tim raised an eyebrow, but Harry turned away. He didn't feel like being humiliated in front of half the school. His eyes fell on Terry.

"Shall we?" the Ravenclaw boy invited.

"Love to," Harry replied.

"Face your partners and bow!" shouted Lockhart.

Several metres away, Draco and Weasley were glaring daggers at each other. Then Draco flashed Weasley an impudent grin and bowed rakishly. Weasley's lips tightened.

Terry bowed from the waist. Harry mirrored him.

"Wands at the ready! When I count to three, cast your Charms to disarm _only_. We don't want any accidents. One! Two! Three!"

Quick as a flash, Harry slashed his wand down and cast the Disarming Charm. It was an unfamiliar spell to him, and he felt a surge of satisfaction as the magic poured out of him, through his wand, and into the jet of crimson light. Terry, still bringing his wand into position, took the blast full in the chest. He recoiled as though shoved and fell to the floor. His wand sprang up into the air, and Harry caught it with a deft grab.

Around the room, chaos seemed to have been unleashed. Draco had cast his spell a second early, and he had not cast a Disarming Charm. Whatever he had cast, Weasley staggered back like he'd been hit over the head with a frying pan. He shook it off and cast his own spell. "_Tarantallegra!_"

Draco's legs began to jerk around out of control in a kind of quickstep. Actually, it looked more like a silly walk. Draco snarled and pointed a shaking wand at Weasley. "_Petrificus totalis!_"

Weasley was not quick enough to dodge the spell, and his whole body stiffened up like a board. He fell to the floor with a crash.

"Stop! Stop!" screamed Lockhart. Snape, however, took charge.

"_Finite Incantatem!_" he shouted. Weasley's body relaxed; Draco's feet stopped dancing.

A haze of green smoke was hovering over the scene. Tim was helping third year David Palce to his feet; Pansy stood triumphantly over Parvati Patil; Mandy Brocklehurst and Jenna were both laying on the floor panting. Only Millie and Granger were still moving; Millie had Granger in a headlock, and Granger was whimpering in pain. Both their wands lay forgotten on the floor. Harry and Draco stepped forward and pulled the tomboy off, and she let go reluctantly. Granger's face was dirty, and it looked as though her eye would blacken quite splendidly.

"Dear, oh dear," Lockhart muttered, skittering through the crowd. "Up you go, Macmillan. Careful there, Miss Fawcett. Pinch it hard and tip your head forward." He looked around at the aftermath of the duels.

"I think perhaps I had better teach you how to _block_ unfriendly spells," he decided. The man seemed so very flustered that Harry couldn't help but smile. Lockhart glanced at Snape, who was looking satisfied, and quickly averted his eyes. "I'm sure you all know a few spells appropriate for combat. Let's have a volunteer pair, shall we? Is there anyone who would like to step up on the stage?"

"Right here!" Draco said loudly, raising his hand.

"Draco, what are you doing?" Tim hissed.

"Showing off," he smirked. "Shall we, Harry?"

Harry grinned. "Sounds like fun."

Together they pushed towards the platform and climbed the steps at either end. As they walked the length of the stage, Harry saw that the centre spot was a full moon, with the moon phases progressing towards new moon depicted as one walked to the end.

Professor Snape smiled slightly at them. Clearly their actions pleased him. Harry only hoped that they wouldn't embarrass him or Slytherin House. The consequences would be dire. He swallowed a small lump of nervousness. This was no different than any other day of practising his spells with his friends, he told himself

With great care, Harry and Draco raised their wands to the ready. Saluting each other, they bowed deeply. Both boys turned sharply and walked ten paces along the stage. Facing off, they assumed duelling postures. Both of them copied Professor Snape's stance. Harry was aware that Draco looked better than he did. Beads of sweat broke out on his forehead.

"Now then, here is how you block," Lockhart began, waving his wand in a complicated series of wiggles. It was like nothing Harry had ever seen, and he doubted the effectiveness of it even before Lockhart dropped his wand.

"Whoops! My wand is a little overexcited. All clear though? Good. On the count of three, cast _only_ to disarm or _only_ to block. Once we have that down, we'll move on to other things," Lockhart instructed them. From the side, Snape shook his head slightly. Harry nodded. This was no time to play by the given rules.

"One - two - three!"

"_Aegis vocare!_" Harry cast a Shielding Charm, and Draco matched him. They both knew the value of protecting themselves. Numerous mock duels with Tim had taught them that lesson.

"_Expelliarmus!_" Draco shouted.

As the jet of scarlet light sailed towards him, Harry leaned to his left and let it pass him by. He set himself for his next spell. "_Rictusempra!_"

Draco barely ducked under the Tickling Charm. "_Furunculus!_"

That hex, one of Draco's favourites, deflected off of Harry's shield. "I said disarm only!" From Lockhart's panicked voice, he was losing control of things. Harry allowed himself a small smirk. Little did he know that he had already lost control.

"_Impedimentia!_" Harry had hoped that the spell would be strong enough to penetrate Draco's shield, but it was not to be. Harry felt a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. This was actually fun. He had forgotten the crowd, forgotten that he was on display before almost every student from first year through fourth. Then Draco cast a spell that Harry had never heard.

"_Serpensortia!_"

A snake came flying out the end of Draco's wand. It was long, black, and it hit the stage heavily. It raised itself up, and a hood flared out on its head as it hissed angrily. Beady red eyes cast a baleful look towards Harry. There were screams as the crowd backed away from the stage.

Harry had no idea what to do. Draco had definitely caught him by surprise. Perhaps he could- no, that wouldn't work. How about- less than useless. As the snake crawled closer, Harry felt himself start to panic. His wand arm drooped to his side. Eye to eye with the snake, he felt as though he couldn't move.

"Don't move, Potter," Snape said quietly. "I'll get rid of it."

"Allow me!" Lockhart half-shouted. That moron! Why was he making loud noises around a snake that was coiled and ready to strike? He brandished his wand and spoke some garbled Latin.

There was a tremendous bang and, instead of vanishing, the snake flew up into the air! It landed with a meaty-sounding thump on the floor, and its head lunged out, snapping on empty air. It swung around and locked its eyes onto Finch-Fletchley, a Hufflepuff from Harry's History of Magic class. It began to glide towards the boy, mouth open, fangs dripping with venom.

Harry wasn't conscious of stepping forward. Somehow, the rest of the hall faded into the background. All he could see was the snake and Finch-Fletchley's wide and staring eyes. All he could hear was the boy's gasping breaths. He reached out his left hand towards the snake. "Leave him alone," he ordered it.

The snake whirled around to look at him. It hissed spitefully, as if to say, "I've got a lot to be upset about."

"Leave him alone," Harry repeated.

Miraculously, inexplicably, the snake lowered itself to the stone floor. The flared hood retracted, and the angry hissing stopped. It looked harmless now, just a length of black rubber garden hose. It stared directly at Harry, and he knew the snake wouldn't hurt anybody now. He didn't know how he knew, but he knew.

Harry looked up at Finch-Fletchley, glad the other boy hadn't been bitten. He and Draco's little fun had nearly gotten out of hand. Instead of gratitude on the boy's face, however, Harry saw only more fear. He was puzzled.

"What do you think you're playing at?" Finch-Fletchley demanded in a shaky voice. His hands, Harry noticed, were trembling. Before Harry could respond, the other boy backed away and ran from the hall.

Snape stepped forward and waved his wand. "_Vipera evensca!_" The magic struck the snake, and it turned to ash, which quickly crumbled into nothingness. He turned a speculative eye towards Harry. There was shrewdness in that gaze, a questioning. Harry shivered.

He began to be aware of a mutter in the background. It was ominous, and Harry didn't like it. He didn't know what the murmurs _should_ sound like, but he'd just saved Finch-Fletchley's life. The mood shouldn't be this black.

Harry was tugged down from the stage by Tim. Crabbe and Goyle formed ranks on either side, and they hurried him from the hall. As they went through the doors, people on either side drew back, as though he carried some deadly disease. Confused, Harry followed along. "Tim, what-"

"Shut up," Tim ordered tersely. He bit the knuckle of his index finger. "Common room. Now."

His questions went unanswered until they were safely back behind the closed stone wall of the Slytherin House common room. The room was deserted, the younger students having all been at the duelling club, and the older students all having gone to visit Hogsmeade. Harry was roughly sat down in a chair, and Tim began to pace up and down before him.

"You're a Parselmouth," Tim stated flatly. "Why in the name of magic would you not tell us?"

"A what?" Harry was very puzzled.

"A _Parselmouth_," Tim said slowly, enunciating every syllable. "You can talk to snakes."

Harry's eyebrows drew together. "Yeah. I know."

Tim looked at Goyle. "He knows, he says."

"I've only ever done it once before tonight," Harry tried to explain. "I was at the zoo with the Muggles, and I set a boa constrictor on Dudley. I'm still not sure how it happened, but it was telling me it had never seen Brazil, and I accidentally made the glass disappear and- and-" His friends were staring dumbfounded at him.

"A boa constrictor told you that it had never seen Brazil?" Tim echoed faintly.

"Yes."

"In Slytherin's name," Tim swore.

"What's the big deal?" Harry wanted to know. He was getting a little tired of this. "I bet loads of people here can do it."

"No, Harry, they can't," Tim shook his head. "It's a rare gift. This is bad. Harry, you are in a great deal of danger now."

"What's the problem?" Harry was starting to get angry. "What's so bad about it? If I hadn't told that snake not to attack the damn Hufflepuff, he'd be dead of snake poison by now!"

"Is that what you said?" Crabbe asked.

This was really getting out of hand. "You were right there!" he exploded. "You heard me!"

Crabbe shook his head slowly. "I heard you speaking Parseltongue: snake language. It was all hissing."

Harry's anger evaporated. His friends wouldn't lie to him about this. Crabbe wasn't liar enough to play along with such a deception. "I spoke another language?" he asked in a hushed voice. "How can I speak another language without realizing I'm doing it? Without even _knowing_ I can speak it!"

Tim shook his head. "I can't answer that, Harry."

"All right, so this is weird," Harry admitted. "But I still don't see what the problem is."

"The problem," Draco announced as he took the steps down from the door two at a time, "is that Salazar Slytherin was famous for being able to talk to snakes. He was a Parselmouth. It's the reason our house symbol is a serpent."

Harry's jaw dropped.

"Exactly," Draco said soberly. "Now the entire school is going to think you're his great-great-great-odd-grandson. Especially since Finch-Fletchley is a Mudblood, and you practically egged the snake on him."

"But I'm not!" Harry denied instantly. "Am I?"

"We can't know for sure," Tim told him. "Slytherin lived over a thousand years ago, and the records of him after he left the school are very sketchy. For all we know, you could be."

to be continued...


	14. Recognition

**They Shook Hands : Year Two**

An alternate (but realistic!) universe Harry Potter fic  
by Dethryl

**Chapter Fourteen - Recognition**

Harry couldn't sleep at all that night. Amidst the snores from his room mates, he lay in bed staring up at the canopy. The events of the night kept playing over and over again in his head; he couldn't erase Finch-Fletchley's accusing eyes. Draco's revelation about their House's Founder was one more piece of the grand puzzle; all the evidence now pointed directly to Harry.

The Sorting Hat had been so eager to place him in this House: could he possibly be the Heir of Slytherin? He knew nothing about his father's family. The Muggles had always forbidden him to ask about his parents. He was lucky to even know their names. Now his lack of knowledge was proving detrimental. Cursing the Muggles' name, he vowed to learn as much as he could about his lineage.

But the whole idea was ridiculous! Harry certainly wasn't turning a horrible monster loose on the school. He wasn't responsible for changing students into stone.

Harry rolled onto his stomach and punched futilely at his pillow. He was wide awake, and sleep would not come. Frustrated, he threw back the covers and went to sit in the window seat. Curling his knees up to his chin, he watched the moonlight reflect off the rippling water of the lake. The peace and tranquility of the night soothed him, and his mates found him in the morning, fast asleep in the sill.

The castle woke on Tuesday morning to find the first snow falling heavily. In addition to signalling the start of the holiday season, outdoors classes were cancelled, including the second years' Herbology lesson. Professor Sprout wanted to fit the Mandrakes with tiny hats, socks, and scarves, a tricky, time-consuming task that she would entrust to no one but herself. It was vital that the Mandrakes grow as rapidly and as healthfully as possible now that they were needed to restore those who had been Petrified.

Harry was too distracted to learn the new card game a couple of fourth years wanted to teach the younger Slytherins. He prowled around the common room until Draco finally told him to go soak his head. Miffed, Harry stamped out through the wall and headed for the library.

When he rose from the dungeon, Harry saw that the castle was darker than it usually was in daytime. Snow had piled up in the windows, shutting out the light. Harry hugged himself inside his warm cloak as he travelled the halls, past classrooms where lessons were taking place. He could hear Professor McGonagall shouting at someone who had turned his partner into a badger. Resisting the urge to peek in, Harry walked on by.

In the library, Harry wandered through the stacks, browsing for anything that might be interesting. At the back, he heard whispering. It was a group of second year Hufflepuffs, doing more gossiping than studying: they had their heads close together and were having a hushed, anxious conversation. He could almost hear them, and he edged closer out of curiosity.

"So anyway," the stout Macmillan was saying, "I told Justin not to leave the dorm unless he had to. There's no telling when Potter will try to finish the job. Hopefully he can keep his head down until Potter finds a new victim."

"You definitely think it is Potter, then, Ernie?" asked Abbott. Her voice was anxious as she toyed with her blonde pigtails.

"Can there be any doubt, Hannah? What House is he in? Slytherin. He speaks Parseltongue, and everyone knows that's the mark of a Dark wizard. Have you ever heard of a decent one who could talk to snakes? They called Slytherin himself Serpent-tongue."

The others murmured heavily, then Granger joined the conversation. "Nobody knows who attacked Missus Norris, but we all saw that Creevey was bothering Potter at the Quidditch match. Potter was laying in the mud, and Creevey was taking snaps like he was on holiday. Next thing we know, Creevey is in the hospital wing. That's a heck of a coincidence."

"He doesn't seem all that mean, though," Abbott said uncertainly.

Granger snorted rudely. "Potter is about as nice as dental work without the gas. His friends are perfectly venomous little vipers as well, especially Malfoy and that ugly Bulstrode."

"But he made You-Know-Who disappear," the pigtailed girl argued. "He can't be all bad, can he?"

Macmillan lowered his voice conspiratorially. "No one knows how he survived that attack. There's no defence against the Killing Curse. Potter should have been annihilated, but he lived. Only a really powerful Dark wizard would have had a chance. _That's_ probably why You-Know-Who wanted to kill him in the first place: didn't want another Dark Lord to grow up and _challenge_ him. I wonder what other special powers Potter's been hiding."

Harry turned away, sick to his stomach that these people were talking about him in such a vile way. To confront them would probably only make things worse and further entrench their thinking. He was angered by their slander, but he departed the stacks and left the library as quietly as he could.

As soon as he shut the library door, though, Harry stalked up the corridor in a blind rage. Fuming, he turned the corner sharply and crashed full-tilt into something very large and solid. Harry bounced back and fell to the floor. Ready to spit nails, he looked up into the great hairy face of the Hogwarts gamekeeper.

The keeper of keys and grounds was wearing his customary moleskin overcoat. His shoulders and hair were liberally snow-covered. In one huge gloved hand, he carried a dead rooster.

"Hagrid," Harry said in a cool voice.

"'Arry," the big man returned. "Why aren't yeh in class?"

"Cancelled," the boy answered as he regained his feet. "What brings you inside the castle?"

"Need teh talk ter the Headmaster," Hagrid rumbled. "Summat's bin killin' 'em off. Second one this term. Might be a Blood-Suckin' Bugbear."

"Well, don't let me keep you. The Headmaster's time is valuable."

Mollified by being smug to Hagrid, Harry dawdled down the stairs and turned along another corridor. The torches here had been blown out by the icy draft that was blowing through a cracked window pane. He was halfway down the passage when he tripped headlong over something lying on the floor and took another spill.

"Miserable, sodding- oh no!"

As he squinted in the gloom, he could just make out the form of Justin Finch-Fletchley. He was cold and rigid, with a look of shock frozen on his face. His empty eyes stared up at the ceiling.

Shocking as it was, it was not as horridly strange as what had happened to the other victim: Gryffindor's House ghost, Nearly Headless Nick, was floating horizontally six inches off the floor. He was no longer pearly white like other ghosts; he was black like soot, smoky instead of translucent.

The details of the scene saturated his brain. Even as Harry jumped to his feet, he mentally noted the muffled sounds of professors lecturing behind closed doors. There on the floor he could see spiders marching single-file like ants, scuttling away from the scene as fast as they could - which wasn't a bad idea.

By Merlin, he couldn't be found here! After what had happened during the Duelling Club, he would be done for. Harry took off down the passage at a dead run.

He would later reflect that it was not unlike the night he had encountered the giant three-headed dog named Fluffy. Almost recklessly, he ran pell-mell down stairs and into the solid stone safety of the dungeons. Once in Slytherin territory, he fell back against the wall, panting with relief.

"Potter?" Professor Snape stood in the door to the Potions classroom with one eyebrow cocked high. "What are you running from?"

"Attack!" he gasped. "Muggleborn! Gryffindor's ghost!"

"A _ghost_?" Snape pressed. "How do you mean?"

"Can't explain it, sir," he wheezed.

"Return to your room at once," his Head commanded. "I shall speak with you tonight."

"Yes, sir."

All further classes were cancelled that afternoon as professors and prefects scoured the castle for the culprit. Harry took the opportunity to take a nap. After his brush with trouble, he was mentally exhausted. He woke only when the dinner hour came, and then he settled down to do his homework.

About half an hour before bed, Professor Snape finally came knocking at the second years' door. Harry, drudging through his Transfiguration, was glad for the excuse to rise from his desk and answer. The teacher looked very haggard indeed.

"Mister Potter, I must have that word with you now."

"Yes, sir."

"Come with me."

Snape led him down the corridor and pushed open the door to the bathroom. A startled Charles Warrington (the Third) took one look at the man's face and bolted from the sink, not even taking his toothbrush. When it was just the two of them, Snape leaned against the sink and looked expectantly at Harry.

"I'd been in the common room since Herbology was cancelled," Harry began. "Then I went to the library. I wandered around for awhile and found some Hufflepuffs gossiping about Duelling Club in the back. I didn't care to hear any more, so I left. I wasn't really going anywhere particular, and then I tripped over Finch-Fletchley's body. I got real scared and started running."

"You saw nothing?" Snape asked intently.

"No, sir. I just found them that way."

"I see," he said thoughtfully. "There are many strange things happening this year, Mister Potter. I am not yet sure how much of it involves you."

Harry started to protest that he wasn't involved with anything, but Snape hushed him. "After what happened at the Duelling Club, you have become a target of suspicion. _I_ do not believe you to be responsible, but others are not so open-minded."

"That's what those children in the library were talking about," Harry admitted.

"Naturally. You have a rare gift, Mister Potter, and not one with a sterling reputation. If you had been caught at the scene of this attack, doubtless you would be standing before the Headmaster. I must ask you to exercise extreme discretion and caution at all times."

"Yes, sir," Harry promised.

"You and your friends managed to unravel quite a mystery last year. I must insist that you stay out of this one. With the Chamber of Secrets open, there is a very real chance that someone could be killed. The Heir might take violent action, even against a Slytherin, in order to continue his work."

Harry gulped. That notion had not occurred to him. "I will, sir."

"Good." Snape stood straight again. "Return to your studies then."

"Actually, sir, I've been having difficulty with this bit of Transfiguration. Can you help me?"

Professor Snape raised an eyebrow. "You ask me instead of your teacher?"

"She doesn't seem to like it when I ask her questions."

Upon later reflection, Harry would realize it was inevitable that he would get caught. Time and routine had made him careless; closing his wardrobe a little bit too loudly was all it took. Harry froze in the act of dressing on Thursday morning as a polite cough came from Draco's bed.

"Where are you going?" his best mate said through a yawn. "It's barely early."

"Up to breakfast. Most important meal, you know."

"Right," Draco agreed as he thrust his feet into his slippers. He ran his fingers through his hair and pulled his cloak around his dressing gown.

Harry was considerably startled. Draco had never shown any inclination towards rising early when they had their free morning; why should he start now?

"Er," he said, trying to think of a way to stall. "I'm hungry. Why don't you comb your hair and meet me in the Great Hall?"

In response, Draco brandished his comb. "I'm famished," he declared. "Let's go."

Harry had little choice but to follow as Draco strode with determination towards the common room. His secret was about to be revealed!

"Jenna, what in blazes are you doing up?" Draco demanded to know.

"What are _you_ doing up? You look like an unmade bed!" she said pointedly.

"Have you and Harry been sneaking off all term?" Draco pressed her. "Harry, have you been snogging Jenna in the mornings?"

Jenna was a great friend; he had enjoyed getting to know her this year. Harry couldn't fathom kissing his morning coffee mate. The two acomplices made nearly identical faces at Draco. Harry's wore glasses, and Jenna's cheeks were rosy, but they could have been thinking with one brain.

"Together! So cute!" Draco exclaimed.

"For your _information_, Draco, contrary to your _speculation_, Harry and I have breakfast every Thursday morning. We've been doing it all term. Nobody else bothers to get up, so they're not invited. Since you're up, would you care to join us?"

"What are you two thinking? You two could _collectively_ be the Heir of Slytherin if the Heir spoke Parseltongue with extreme sarcasm and wit. The other Houses travel in packs, and so must we else we become suspect."

Harry groaned. "I will not have my life dictated by fear of what people might think."

"Bloody right!" Jenna shook her fist. "We've done this every Thursday since term started, and we're not changing."

"I wasn't fooling about being starved, so I'll go with you two half-wits, but I strongly advise travelling in larger groups."

"Fine, we'll wake you for breakfast from now on," Jenna snickered. "Since you seem to care so much about our reputation and all, you can be a part of the group. Surely you should relish the opportunity to add the lustre of the Malfoy name to our image."

Draco blinked at her. "Jenna, you've got a big mouth."

"I know."

"Why do I put up with you?"

"Because she's funny," Harry answered for her.

"He's right," she told Draco.

"She's so nice," he told Draco.

"Would you two stop admiring each other? I'm starting to not want to eat."

"So Harry and I will just go up by ourselves," Jenna informed him, "like we do _every_ Thursday."

"No, I'm awake, thank you very much. I might as well eat, since talking with you made my head hurt. No chance of sleep now."

"I know using your brain hurts, but you should really stop complaining about it; people might get the wrong idea."

"Do you ever shut up?" Draco asked in exasperation.

"No."

Draco threw up his hands and stomped towards the exit out to the dungeons. Harry grinned at Jenna, and they locked arms and hurried after.

At the Slytherin table, there was little talking as students gobbled down eggs and bacon and sausages and toast and pancakes and pastries and milk and juice and coffee and-

"Jenna, are you drinking coffee?" Draco suddenly sat up and took notice.

"Of course," she answered calmly, sipping from the thick mug with lady-like daintiness.

"You're not supposed to be drinking coffee!"

"No, _you_ lot decided that I wasn't supposed to be drinking coffee. You lot are all quacks. Harry and I have done this once a week since September, and you haven't noticed a whit."

"Then explain why you were so barmy on the train!"

"Dad makes good coffee," she shrugged.

The new attack threw the whole castle into an uproar. One more Muggleborn had become a casualty, but Nearly Headless Nick's condition really spooked people. Nobody could explain what had happened to him, and even the ghosts were now scared.

The teachers had finally come forward to admit that there was a serious problem. The castle would be closed for the holiday, the students were told, and searched exhaustively for the Chamber of Secrets and the Monster of Slytherin.

Things had clearly gotten out of hand. The only good news was that Harry finally had the excuse he needed to force the Muggles to give him permission to leave school. When presented with the possibility of having him in their house over the holiday, they quickly capitulated.

Something that helped distract the school was the choir's Christmas performance. On the last night of the term, Sunday, nearly every student packed into the Great Hall. In addition, the school governors were in attendance, and many parents had come up to hear their children sing.

Harry felt an odd fluttering in his stomach as the choir was announced. He thought everything would be fine, that he'd mastered the nervous anticipation he felt just before singing, but apparently such was not the case. Blaise stood right beside him, and unless he missed his guess, she was just as nervous as he was. The bouncing and shifting on her toes gave her away. Luckily, he was standing still, so he didn't think his nervousness was showing.

Professor Dumbledore called the students to attention and announced the choir at last, and then they trooped out in straight lines. They filed their way onto the dais and waited for the Sorting Hat to announce the song and give them their entry.

"Noble witches and gentlewizards," the Sorting Hat began, "every song you will hear tonight was suggested by and voted for by the members of this choir. We hope you enjoy our singing, and we invite you to join in on the time-honoured favourites. Now, we give you, 'The Wassail Song!'"

The first piece was without any music at all. The bass part began very softly, and then the sopranos echoed them at a higher octave. The harmony took shape as the song's voices blended together, as the students stared with wide eyes and open mouths. Clearly, the talent of this choir hadn't been anticipated. The song built to a lively climax before dying out. Then it returned in a second crescendo before fading altogether.

After about ten seconds of silence, the audience seemed to realize that the song was finished, and they broke into thunderous applause. The Sorting Hat bobbed at its pupils and signalled for the second song.

Harry was dreading this one. "Good King Wenceslas" was his solo piece. He was singing the part of the Page. His voice hadn't yet begun changing, and since his was the highest treble male voice in the choir, he had been stuck with it. To his utter relief, however, Draco was singing the part of the king. They had practised the piece to where Draco mumbled the words in his sleep.

_Besides_, he thought wryly as the music began, _since we're doing it now, it'll be over faster, and then I can listen to Pansy without worrying about anything._

"Hither, page, and stand by me  
If thou know'st it, telling  
Yonder peasant who is he?  
Where and what his dwelling?"

Draco sang. Harry smiled to himself. This was going to be easy. He answered with growing confidence and a deep glowing happiness that welled up from within his heart.

"Sire he lives a good league hence  
Underneath the mountain.  
Right against the forest fence,  
By Saint Agnes' Fountain."

As the choir continued to sing, the night grew darker and the candles began to brighten. After the fourth song, the audience lost its awe of the group, but it was replaced by a very intimate setting where they could sing and laugh freely. In spite of the large crowd, the place soon felt like a small house filled with family members singing round a large tree and a crackling fire.

By the time the final piece, "Let There Be Peace On Earth", was announced, the audience felt no compunction to stay silent. Before they were invited to sing, however, Pansy raised her lovely soprano voice in the traditional entreaty. "Let there be peace on earth, and let it begin with me," she sang. Most of the women were in tears by the time the hat signalled that they could sing, so they started out slowly, but by the time the song had gone into the final lines, everyone was standing and singing at the tops of their lungs.

With the last song over, the members of the choir mingled into the audience. Mr. Malfoy stepped onto the stage at this point. Like the other governors, his fine black robes were decorated with the school crest.

"Students of Hogwarts!" he said grandly, raising his arms wide. "Faculty, parents, and friends! I have seldom heard such wonderful singing as we have heard tonight." He paused as the crowd applauded once more for the choir. "At this time, the governors would crave your indulgence for a bit of ceremony. Two months ago, a gang of hooligans attempted to do grievous bodily harm to my son Draco. A heroic prefect intervened, and justice was done. Tonight, the governors wish to honour the actions of that prefect. Perseus Ignatius Weasley, please join us on stage."

Slytherin House burst into applause. The staff and visiting parents joined in politely. Grudgingly, the other Houses clapped as well. There was a block of Gryffindors that remained stony-faced and silent. Percy took the stage with a flaming red face.

"Percy, your actions show you to be of the highest moral calibre. You are an example to your fellow prefects and to all students. The school governors are proud at this time to present you with the Cliodne Medal of Wizardly Merit."

Mr. Malfoy held up the golden disk on a bright blue ribbon. Percy bowed his head, and the governor draped the award around the prefect's neck. "Stand and be recognized."

Percy turned to face the crowd. His flush was gone, and a look of vindication twisted his lips into a smile. The medal glittering brightly on his chest was matched by a gleam in his eyes.

The Slytherins clapped long and hard. As Percy quit the stage, his new friends closed around him. Draco slipped away to offer his personal congratulations. Mr. Malfoy was smiling broadly, shaking hands with parents. He gradually made his way through the throng to where Harry and his friends stood.

"Ah, Harry, how delightful to see you again. Staying out of trouble, I trust. Timothy, Millicent, Ms. Zabini."

"Mister Malfoy," the young Slytherins responded.

"Harry, might I have a private word with you?"

As Harry and Mr. Malfoy stepped off to the side. Harry caught Ron Weasley staring daggers at him. The prat looked fit to be tied.

"I trust you know that the school will be closed for the holiday. Yet I have received no request to join us at Malfoy Manor. The invitation was, of course, implicit." Mr. Malfoy sounded vaguely sad.

"Thank you, sir. I _did_ consider it, but with Elan coming home for Christmas, I thought the family deserved some time together."

Mr. Malfoy nodded. "That's very kind of you, Harry. Where, then, will you go?"

"Everyone invited me," Harry said, unable to hide his sheer joy at that simple fact. He loved having friends. "I'll be going home with Tim."

"Ah, the Notts; fine old family. Good. I'm glad to know you won't be wandering the streets of London."

Harry grinned. "No fear of that," he assured. "I'd rent a room at the Leaky Cauldron if I had to."

"Let us be thankful that you do not."

Harry felt his excitement build as all the students gathered up their belongings and journeyed down to Hogsmeade station that Monday morning. Getting away from Hogwarts, from all the whispers and rumours and paranoia, was absolutely wonderful.

The mood on the Hogwarts Express was light. The holiday performance had helped brighten everyone's aura. The hours of the long train ride slipped by quickly, and before they even realized it, the train was pulling into King's Cross station.

Somehow, in a hurried frenzy, all students made it out of their compartments and onto the platform. Waiting parents helped unload trunks and pets and children. Harry stuck close to Tim; he wouldn't know Mr. Nott if he saw him.

"Elan!" Draco broke into a run and dropped his bag as he wrapped his arms around his big brother. The former Hogwarts prefect looked well. He still stood tall, his bearing as regal as a prince.

"Draco, you look surprisingly fit for a near homicide victim."

"Madam Pomfrey is a miracle worker," Draco replied. "But if it hadn't been for Percy, even she couldn't have helped me."

"Ah yes. I must see him before we depart today."

"Well, he's over there," Harry pointed out.

"Harry, a pleasure to see you again. All is well, I trust?"

"Fairly so."

"Well, excuse me then."

Elan walked purposefully towards his old group of friends. Jamie Zabini's face lit up with a brilliant smile, and the kiss she bestowed upon him was rather embarrassing to watch. When Elan started shaking hands with the blokes, Percy stepped back from the group and seemed about to slink away. Elan turned away from Sam Palce and said something to him. Harry couldn't hear it, but Percy's face registered astonishment. Elan opened his arms and stepped forward to hug the red-haired boy tightly.

"I never thought I'd see the day," Draco commented. "Elan's never had so much as a kind word for Percy."

"I think Percy's gone into shock," Tim observed.

"Tim!"

"Dad!" Tim hugged a shortish old man with grey hair. His dark blue robes decorated with mystic-looking symbols, like a magician out of some Muggle fairytale. There could be no doubt that this was Mr. Nott; Harry could see it in the structure of his face.

"Is this young Potter, then?" the man asked, offering Harry his hand.

"Harry, if you please, sir."

"Harry it shall be, then. Have you all your things?"

The Boy Who Lived turned to his best mate. "Enjoy the holiday," he said sincerely.

"I'll see you at the Christmas party. It's at Pansy's house this year."

"Fair enough," Harry agreed. "Cheers!"

"Cheers, mate!"

Back through the barrier they went, and down the street to Puddlemucker's Sweet Shoppe. Despite Mr. Nott's highly unusual attire, none of the Muggles gave them so much as a second glance. In the shoppe, Mr. Nott flipped the fire attendant two Galleons. The tin of Floo powder was produced, and the wizard tossed it into the fire with panache.

"Casa de Nott," he ordered.

The green flames crackled delightfully, and the man vanished into them. Tim followed, and then Harry. As he began to spin, Harry held onto his stomach and prayed not to be sick.

to be continued...


	15. A Right Proper Christmas

**They Shook Hands : Year Two**

An alternate (but realistic!) universe Harry Potter fic  
by Dethryl

**Chapter Fifteen - A Right Proper Christmas**

Casa de Nott was a magnificent home, in Harry's humble opinion. Once his head stopped spinning from the trip through the Floo, the splendour of the sitting room impressed him immediately. Swallowing hard, Harry took a deep breath and decided that he would, in fact, live.

As the three wizards dusted themselves off, two house elves ran into the room to seize the luggage.

"Take Harry Potter's things to the guest suite," Mr. Nott instructed. "Make sure that all his clothes are laundered and pressed."

The elves bowed silently and vanished noisily.

"Now, I do believe it's time for lunch. I hope you boys didn't fill up on snacks on the train."

"No, I was looking forward to ravioli," Tim revealed.

"They've been at it since I left the mansion," Mr. Nott affirmed. "It should be just about ready now."

"Excellent. Let's get to it. I'm starved. Harry, I hope you're hungry."

"I am," he said. "But don't I get to meet your mum?"

There was a horribly awkward silence. Harry immediately sensed he'd made a dreadful social blunder. He knew that he should apologize, but no sooner were the words out of his mouth than Mr. Nott waved him to silence.

"My wife Sarah passed on three years ago," he said in a tight voice.

"I never told you," Tim choked. Nor had any of Harry's other friends pulled him aside and warned him.

"It was very sudden," Mr. Nott continued. "Tim and I are still coping with the loss."

"I'm so sorry," Harry whispered. Boy had he put his foot in his mouth this time.

"Thank you." Mr. Nott cleared his throat and composed himself. "Now let's get at that ravioli before it gets cold."

Harry ate his lunch thoughtfully. He did his best to participate in the conversation, hoping to ease past his grave faux pas. Tim had never talked much about his parents, and now Harry knew why.

Mr. Nott, it turned out, was a scholar. He spent his days with books of all sorts. At present, he was researching the number five and hoped to have a book on the magical properties of numbers finished by next summer. With a little luck, he explained, sixth year Arithmancy students would be referred to his text.

When an invitation to see the library was extended, Harry could not refuse. After the libraries at Hogwarts and Malfoy Manor, Harry felt he had seen large collections of books before, so he was ready to be suitably polite. He was not prepared to be astounded.

The room itself was so big that it could not possibly be natural. High-order Charms, Mr. Nott explained, were what allowed such a large room to exist in a small mansion. There were more books than Harry could conveniently estimate, and that wasn't all: the room was also part laboratory (towards the back) and part arboretum (off to the side).

"Wow," Harry breathed.

"Nice, wot?" Tim grinned. "I grew up in this room."

"This explains a lot," Harry teased him.

"Last time I checked," Tim retorted haughtily, "my marks were better than yours."

"Would you boys care to help me with an experiment?" Mr. Nott asked.

Tim looked askance at Harry, who shrugged. "Sounds like fun, Dad. What are we doing?"

"My hypothesis is that the number five is the most important of all numbers, in a magical sense."

"I thought that seven was strongest," Tim questioned.

"So common wisdom tells us," Mr. Nott nodded. "But seven does not exist in nature. Both living and non-living things exhibit traits of six, such as snowflakes and honeycombs, and six is a very useful number indeed, I have found. Five is different. Inanimate nature avoids fiveness. There are no five-sided crystals, for example. So far as I have studied, there is not one instance of fiveness outside of living beings. There, of course, fiveness is abundant, from our fingers and toes to the starfish on the beach. I have yet to run exhaustive tests, but I suspect that my hypothesis will be proven true."

"So what about seven?" Tim asked, not letting go of his original point.

"Practically useless," Mr. Nott sniffed. "Oh, it's good for a few showy things, but no serious wizard would ever depend on seven were his life at stake."

Mr. Nott's brief explanation had fired Harry's curiosity. "How can we help?" he asked.

Hours later, as he soaked in his hot bath, Harry concluded that Tim, even with one living parent, was truly blessed. Harry hadn't understood even a fraction of the magical principles involved with what they'd done that afternoon, but the older wizard had patiently taken time to answer his questions and gently corrected him when he was in error.

There hadn't been any flashy results like Harry expected, but Mr. Nott seemed most pleased with the day's tests, and he was yammering happily to himself as he quickly scribbled down his thoughts in a journal at his desk as Harry and Tim left to go wash up for dinner.

The hour was considerably later than when Harry normally ate dinner, but the food placed in front of him was just as delicious as that at Hogwarts. Harry wasted no time considering the clock and gave a brief thanks that he even had such a wonderful meal. It would only be fair to say that he stuffed himself, and he struggled to finish his last bites of sherbet.

"We haven't talked much about your classes, boys," Mr. Nott noted as he sipped his coffee. "Harry, what is your favourite subject?"

"This year? Definitely Potions." With Defence being such a joke, there was no question in Harry's mind.

"Not Defence? Tim informed me that you received top marks last year."

"That was last year," Harry emphasized. "I haven't learned anything this year other than that Cornish pixies are dangerous in large groups."

"Lockhart is not a good teacher?" the wizard queried.

Tim snorted rudely. "Dad, don't you _read_ my letters? The man's a fool."

"I know you're a bit prone to exaggeration at times, Tim. That's why I wanted Harry's opinion."

"I agree with Tim. Lockhart couldn't teach a monkey how to throw poo."

Mr. Nott chuckled briefly at Harry's wit before waxing serious again. "They hired an incompetent teacher?"

"He left a class of second year Gryffindors to deal with the aforementioned pixies," Tim sneered. "Then he lied and said that he was never there."

"Outrageous!" Mr. Nott exclaimed.

"I don't even see how the man's so famous," Harry continued. "He can't even cast a basic Shielding Charm."

"He's taught you nothing?"

"That's right."

"Then it's high time you had a proper lesson," Mr. Nott decided. "Fetch your wands, boys, and meet me in the exercise room."

Hours later, well past Harry's normal bedtime, he was soaking once again in a hot bath. He'd come from his unexpected Defence lesson both tired and sweaty. It had been a gruelling time, Harry acknowledged, but time well-spent. Tim's dad knew a _lot_. He was a good teacher too, and Harry had learned more in the span of a few hours than in half a year's worth of lessons. Now he was stretching out in the hot, soapy water, wishing that every day could be so fulfilling.

There were only a few days left until Christmas, he realized. With all the goings-on, the holiday had snuck up on him. He needed to get presents for all his mates and for the Malfoys and Mr. Nott. While he pondered what to buy, his exhaustion overwhelmed him, and Harry drifted off to slumber land - right there in the bath.

Harry tugged at the collar of his borrowed dress robes. The dark green fabric felt tight in the neck, though Tim had assured him that it was all in his head. Harry had never worn such splendid clothes as these. He was having trouble adjusting to wearing only his pants under the robes. He felt anxious as the minutes ticked down to the Christmas party at Pansy's house. It was to be his first social function in wizarding society.

"All right, Harry?"

"Nervous," he replied honestly.

Tim laughed at him. "You'll be fine. Just think about how nervous a lot of the adults are about meeting _Harry Potter_."

Harry forced a smile at Tim's melodramatic pronunciation of his name. "Oh, shut up," he said lightly.

"Ready, boys?" Mr. Nott asked as he stepped into the den.

"I am," Tim answered. "I think Harry might be ready to upchuck."

"I know an excellent Charm to clean up, so go right ahead, Harry."

"I'm ready to go," Harry ignored their joshing.

"Parkinson Place!"

Harry managed to hold his stomach together through the Floo, and the glass of cold water handed to him by a house elf helped immensely. Perhaps he was finally starting to get used to Floo travel.

When his eyes focused again, Pansy was standing there in robes of pale pink. Her hair had been done up, and she looked very nice.

"Happy Christmas, Harry!" she exclaimed, as she leaned forward and kissed his cheek.

Harry felt blood rise to his face. "Happy Christmas, Pansy."

"Where's my kiss?" she demanded. She pointed above his head. There, hanging from a nail, was a sprig of mistletoe.

Cheeks burning, Harry acceded to tradition and gave her a quick peck.

"Where's _my_ kiss?" Tim teased her from a few steps away.

"I'd rather kiss a Weasley."

"Well, Percy has an invitation, so maybe you'll get your wish," Tim needled her.

"Children, play nice now. It is the holiday after all." Mr. Nott's voice was mildly reproving.

"Yes, sir," they both answered.

"Harry, my father wanted to meet you." Pansy took his hand and tugged him off towards a small group of adults standing together. "Daddy?" she said to a distinguished-looking gentleman with a full brown beard. "Harry is here."

The wizard had been in the middle of a sentence, but he immediately looked down at his daughter. "Thank you, Pansy. Harry, I'm so pleased to meet you. I'm Douglas Parkinson; my wife Lila."

"Harry, so glad you could join us tonight." Pansy had inherited her mother's eyes, just as Harry himself had.

"Ma'am," he inclined his head.

"Have you had a good holiday?"

"It's been a delight, sir. Mister Nott has been very good to me."

"Fine wizard, Theodore is; fine wizard. Very distinguished family, the Notts."

"Doug, don't they just look so adorable together?" Mrs. Parkinson was looking back and forth between Harry and Pansy.

Pansy caught Harry's eye and made a gagging motion. He choked back a snicker.

"Pansy is already betrothed, Lila. Surely you wouldn't want to insult Lucius by breaking it."

"No, certainly not, but you can't say that they don't make a good pair."

"Please forgive my wife," Mr. Parkinson said to Harry. "She has the romantic soul of a matchmaker."

Harry affirmed that no offence had been taken. Pansy led him off by the arm, and they circulated amongst the throng. Harry repeated the phrase, "Nice to meet you," so many times that he thought his tongue would fall out. It was twenty minutes before he finally saw someone he knew.

"Merry Christmas, Blaise!"

"Harry!" The blonde girl threw her arms around him. "Merry Christmas!"

"Give him a kiss," Pansy suggested. "He'll go as red as a tomato."

Harry started turning red even at the idea. Blaise giggled in a wicked sort of way.

"There's mistletoe in every doorway," Pansy continued helpfully. "You'll get him eventually."

"Thanks heaps, Pansy," Harry rolled his eyes, trying to play it cool.

"I'm going to go soak Tim's head for him. Blaise, can you escort Harry around?"

"Love to."

Brainy Blaise, with her potent intellect, recalled names by the hundred as she mingled. She made countless introductions and set Harry's head to spinning so much that it seemed he was clinging to her arm to keep his balance. She had the grace of a butterfly, never letting one group keep Harry over-long, but lighting here and there around the ballroom.

At half eight, the lights dimmed slightly, and the orchestra began to play a series of slow tunes. Husbands and wives gravitated towards each other to sway in time with the music. Older sons and daughters snuck away to secluded corners. Younger children wandered away from all the mushiness, left to their own devices.

Pansy gathered up her friends one by one and led them all upstairs to her bedroom. It was a very pink place, from the walls to the bed covers. Pansy shoved her doll collection to the side and collapsed with a tired sigh.

"Oh, my feet," she complained.

"Pansy?" Tim asked, suddenly looking confused. "Where'd your body go? I can only see your head!"

Her pink robes didn't _quite_ blend perfectly with her blankets, but the two shades were very close. Pansy stuck out her tongue and blew him a raspberry.

"So how is Elan?" Harry asked Draco.

"He's well. He misses Hogwarts, but he's got much better classes than we do. They actually have a teacher who _knows_ the Dark Arts."

_That_ little statement drew everyone's focus.

"They even get to _learn_ some things at the Advanced level," Draco tantalized them.

"Spiffy," Jenna said.

"I'll say," Harry agreed.

"You want to learn the Dark Arts, oh Heir of Slytherin?" she teased.

"I am _not_ the Heir of Slytherin," he denied.

"Tell me that in Parseltongue."

Harry wished he were witty enough to keep up with Jenna. Even after sitting with her once a week for breakfast, she still got in the last word. He turned back to Draco.

"Is their Potions Master _really_ inferior to Snape?" he asked. That question had never been answered.

"_Anybody_ would be inferior to Snape."

"That's true."

"Are Elan and Jamie still together?" Pansy asked Blaise.

"So she tells me. It hasn't been easy for her this year."

"That's so sweet."

"Draco, has your dad said anything about the Heir?" Tim wanted to know.

"A few things. Did you know the Chamber of Secrets has been opened before?"

"What?"

"Fifty years ago. He won't tell me any details; says it'll look suspicious if I know too much. But he did say that, last time, a Mudblood _died_."

"Died?" Crabbe echoed.

"Dee Eee Aay Dee, dead. That's what the legend means by 'purge the school' of those unworthy to study magic; the Beast will kill them all!"

"Try not to sound too pleased about that," Jenna advised him.

"But it's wonderful!" he exclaimed. "Can you imagine a school with only pure blooded students?"

"Yes, it's called Durmstrang," Elan said as he let himself in.

"Elan!"

"A Merry Christmas to you all. Everything well?"

"Fine, Elan, just fine," his younger brother answered.

"Good. Mum wanted me to check on you."

"I keep telling her I'm perfectly fit," Draco complained.

"You know how she worries."

"I'm getting a little too old to be babied like this," he continued.

"She's not babying you, stupid. She loves you, for some unfathomable reason. Just accept it, and occasionally tell her you love her too."

"I'll remember that." Draco rolled his eyes.

"I'm serious."

"I'll tell her tonight," he promised. "Happy?"

"Yes, and she will be too."

"Good to be home?" Millie interjected.

"It's very good," Elan agreed. "I like speaking English again. Please excuse me now, though. I left Jamie waiting for me."

"I guess they're still together," Pansy observed when he had left.

"So it would seem," Draco shrugged.

"Philistine," she scoffed at him.

"As I was saying before His Germanness came in, Father says I should stop asking questions. We all should just keep our heads down and let the Heir get on with it."

"Which fits with what Professor Snape told me," Harry chimed in. "Stay clear, and no harm will come to us."

"Sounds like a good plan," Goyle rumbled.

"I've got a better plan," Blaise offered. "How about you handsome boys escort us girls down to the ballroom and we pretend like we're all grown up?"

"Wonderful," Jenna declared. She bounced up and seized Draco's hand. "C'mon, you."

"Under no circumstances!"

"Malfoys are excellent dancers," she told him. "Isn't that what Elan said last year?"

"I wasn't there last year."

"Well he did. Now move it."

Jenna dragged Draco from the room as Millie linked arms with Goyle and Crabbe. Blaise latched onto Harry, leaving Tim and Pansy glowering at each other.

"I'm not dancing with _him_," she declared.

"She's not dancing with _me_," he reiterated.

Harry let go of Blaise's arm and took Pansy's instead. "You can dance with me," he told her.

"What do you say, Tim?"

"Blaise, it would be my pleasure."

Confrontation avoided, the friends made their way down to the party and mingled among the adults again. As he let his ears wander, Harry heard Pansy's mother say, "I _told_ you they looked good together."

"Is that what these parties are for?" he whispered to Pansy. "Just a chance to pair off the offspring?"

"Pretty much," she replied. "We marry for political advantage, material privilege, and love; in that order. All three are important, especially the love. If there's no love, even if there's no mutual respect, a union won't last, and that would just be scandalous."

Harry mused on that for awhile. He was at the age where thoughts of girls and marriage and all that rot made him feel queasy. With a conscious effort, he considered how he would fit into the wizarding society's grand matrimonial plan. Shivers ran through his whole body - eeeeww. The very idea was revolting.

He let it go and concentrated on not trodding heavily on Pansy's feet. Actually, she was doing most of the work of making sure his feet touched floor and not her shoes. Pansy was very graceful as they moved. Formal dancing lessons had been a part of growing up, she told him.

The song changed, and everyone changed partners. Harry found himself with Jenna. She looked up at him and made a terrific face. He snickered involuntarily and felt much more relaxed. Going round in circles was sort of fun, he concluded, if one had a good friend to do it with.

Several songs later found Harry and Blaise together on the edge of the ballroom. Harry fought back a yawn as the clock chimed eleven. "I need a break," he begged off.

"Me too," Blaise said. Together they lounged in the door frame.

Suddenly, without warning, Blaise raised herself up on tiptoes and mushed her lips to Harry's cheek. Harry recoiled with a start. Ack!

"Blaise, what-?"

She pointed above his head. There, hanging by a nail, was some of that blasted mistletoe.

"Did you _have_ to?" he griped, wiping at his face.

"Yes."

When Harry woke the next morning, he was still so very tired from the party. He yawned hugely and seriously debated rolling over and drifting off again. Alas, such a decision was not to be left up to him, because Tim knocked on his door a few seconds later.

"Harry? Rise and shine, mate! It's Christmas!"

"Oh no, I haven't done my shopping yet!" Harry called back sassily.

Tim threw the door open with a bang. "You mean you didn't get me anything?" he demanded, and Harry snorted with laughter; Tim was doing a perfect imitation of Draco's voice. "Do not laugh at us; Malfoys are not laughed at."

Harry did his best to smother his mirth. "You do that too well."

"I hear his voice too much," Tim riposted.

Harry snorted again. Throwing back the covers, he reached for his slippers. As he thrust his arms into the dark green dressing gown, he changed the subject. "I hope your dad likes when I got him."

"He's hoping you like what he got _you_. And no, I won't tell you what it is. Let's get down to the tree and open boxes."

"Capital," Harry concurred.

The Christmas tree in the den was the focus of the whole room. Standing some ten feet high, the angel on top cast out a bright golden light, bathing the room in the glow. Lights and balls and garlands decorated the tree branches. The whole room smelled richly of pine. The tree stood in the room's centre, and the pile of presents beneath it was bigger than any pile the Muggles had ever had for Dudley.

"Wow," he breathed.

Tim wasted no words, diving right into the pile. He tossed a medium-sized package in Harry's direction, and Harry had barely put it down when another came flying out. "Hey, be careful with those!" he protested.

"Start opening."

Harry looked at the tag. "Thanks, Tim," he said. The present was from his friend.

"You're welcome."

Inside was a book, which was rather predictable from Tim. "Easy Defensive Magic," he said as he stuck out his tongue. "Thanks."

"Not easy like that," Tim informed him. "Easy as in, 'easy to cast, but still dead useful.'"

"Now that sounds useful," Harry decided. "Thanks, Tim."

"Lockhart can't even teach us so much as one single spell, so I figured Defence would be a practical sort of gift."

"Here," Harry said, handing Tim a package of his own.

"Easy Defensive Magic," Tim read in a flat voice. "You prat, you bought me the same thing."

"It's not so much that it's easy, but more of a 'easy to cast, but still dead useful' sort of thing," Harry laughed.

"Well, Dad always taught me to give a gift you would like to receive. Apparently this is why."

Mr. Nott's gift to Harry was a fine pocket watch. The thing was as heavy as a dozen Galleons. Harry flipped it open to see the time (7 AM) marked with finely-wrought hands, the date in equally pleasant numerals, and the current phase of the moon done in silver.

"That never needs winding," Tim told him.

"It's brilliant," Harry breathed, slightly awed. He'd never owned something as fine as this before. It was an important possession, one that he would value with his broomstick, or maybe his invisibility cloak.

"Glad you like it, Harry." Mr. Nott stood in the doorway. "I hope it's useful to you."

"Indeed, sir."

"Now where's one of my presents?" Mr. Nott demanded, joining the boys on the floor.

"Here," Tim said, handing him a box.

Inside was Harry's present, a fine snow globe. Inside was Hogwarts castle, with small golems of Harry, Tim, and the others throwing snowballs at each other in a never-ending war. It had cost Harry quite a bit of money for the last-minute, high-level magic to make the thing, but the stunned expression on Mr. Nott's face was worth every Knut.

"This is incredible," he declared. "I've never seen such a thing. Good Merlin, those look like your little group in there. What a delightful present, Harry. Thank you."

"You're welcome, sir," Harry grinned. He truly hadn't known _what_ to buy Mr. Nott. The only thing he could come up with as being mildly appropriate to give his friend's father and his host was a bottle of wine. He'd seen that on some Muggle programme once, but Harry wasn't old enough to buy wine. Even his celebrity couldn't pull _that_ string.

A few shorts days later found Harry once again in borrowed dress robes, this time in an off-white number that made him wonder how he was supposed to have any fun if his robes showed the slightest bit of dirt. He'd taken his complaint to Tim, but had been brushed off.

"The new year is a symbolic sort of thing," he'd explained. "A new day dawning, and all that. Hence, we wear light colours."

"It's just a bit queer," Harry commented. "I'm used to black on the men, and red and green on the women."

"Wizards are big on symbols. We will be too, when we're older. I can't wait for some of those classes."

"_Must_ you mention classes while we're on holiday?" Harry demanded.

"Sorry, it slipped out." Tim didn't sound at all apologetic.

"Your neck is definitely smaller than mine," Harry griped, changing the subject, but still griping.

Tim made a face at him. "It's all in your head. Next year we'll be able to get you squared away on a Hogsmeade Weekend. There's just no way to get any reputable tailor so close to the holiday; they're all booked months in advance at Christmastime."

"I could convince them to make an exception, but I just don't care enough to bother," Harry grumbled. "Though I wish a tailor was here so he could loosen this dratted collar."

"It's all in your head."

Harry was largely expecting the New Year's Eve party to be much the same as the Christmas party: mostly boring with scattered moments of fun. It was a pleasant surprise, therefore, to be greeted with raucously loud music upon exiting the Floo. They cast off their protective cloaks (the very thought of all that soot on the white robes was horrifying.) and were immediately drawn into the crowd of people dancing to the lively live band.

Whirling around, being bounced left and right, not having a clue what he was doing, Harry was having a blast. He had never felt so carefree. There was nothing that existed past the party; those things would be dealt with in the new year. Now there was only fun, celebration, and merriment. Harry laughed aloud from sheer joy, and stomped his feet harder.

Time passed as quick as an eye blink, and the music stopped as the countdown began. All eyes were fixed on the clock. Thirty seconds.

Blaise squeezed Harry's hand. "Having fun?"

"Your family throws a wicked party."

"Glad you could make it."

Twenty seconds.

Jenna handed Harry a glass of pumpkin juice, and he drank deeply. The frosty beverage had never tasted more refreshing.

"I needed that."

"I know. I know everything."

Ten seconds.

"Bye-bye, nineteen ninety-two!"

"It's been swell!"

Five seconds.

Four, three, two, one.

"Happy New Year!" the crowd roared in unison.

Blaise leaned up and kissed Harry's cheek and gave him a big hug. "Happy New Year, Harry."

Harry's cheek burned where she had touched him. "Happy New Year."

"Happy New Year, Harry!" Jenna exclaimed. To Harry's intense shock, his coffee mate hugged him hard and bounced up to kiss his other cheek.

"H-happy New Year, Jenna," he stammered. He felt slightly confused.

"Happy New Year!" the girls said to each other as they hugged.

Harry spent five minutes or so doing nothing but exchanging that salutation with everyone in sight. All his friends, of course were greeted, as well as numerous of their parents. Siblings, acquaintances, and diverse others. He felt like his tongue would fall out if he had to say it one more time.

"Blah, blah, blah," Draco said as he rolled his eyes in Harry's direction.

"And so on, and so on, and so on," Tim contributed.

to be continued...


	16. Things All Fall Apart

**They Shook Hands : Year Two**

An alternate (but realistic!) universe Harry Potter fic  
by Dethryl

**Chapter Sixteen - Things All Fall Apart**

Harry and Tim arrived at King's Cross station very early to catch the Hogwarts Express; they wouldn't depart the station for another hour yet, but already their trunks were loaded, and the two boys had claimed a prime compartment for their little gang. Harry collapsed into his seat with a sigh of relief. Every time he had to move that trunk, it got heavier and heavier.

Tim reached into his trunk and extracted a book. He curled up in his seat with the thing, and a look of contentment settled on his face. Harry wasn't sure who Leianora de la Croix was, but apparently her life story was completely absorbing to Tim.

Harry was about to retrieve his own light reading, _Seeker Tactics_, when a tapping at the glass startled him. It was Regal, Harry's eagle owl, holding a roll of parchment in his talons. The bird squeezed through the open window and dropped it in Harry's lap. Harry scratched his friend behind the ear tufts and held out an owl treat as reward. Regal crunched it down in two quick bites and stretched his wings to full span, then began grooming himself as Harry read his letter.

It was from Flint. "'Dear team,'" it began. "'A family situation has arisen, and I am unable to return to Hogwarts this year. In my absence, I name Miles as team captain. Be strong, win, and don't leave my name off the Quidditch Cup.'" Harry could barely believe what he was reading. "'Up Slytherin, Marcus.'"

Tim had looked up from his book. "Well, doesn't that just foul things up."

"I wonder what the family emergency is," Harry said. "It must be serious, if he's not coming back to school."

"He'll have to repeat his seventh year," Tim noted. "He couldn't pass his N.E.W.T.s at this point."

"He's our most insane Chaser. I don't know how we can replace him."

"Replace who?" Millie asked as she sprawled on the seat next to Harry. "Hullo, Tim."

"Hi, Millie."

"Flint," Harry answered her. "He's skivving off the rest of the year."

"Skivving?"

"Well, it's some sort of family crisis."

"Poor guy. So Warrington finally gets to play, huh?"

"That's 'Chahles Warrington the Third' to you," Harry said poshly. The boy was known for always using his nominary suffix.

Millie giggled. "Yes, the Third."

"He's our top reserve Chaser. I can't imagine that Miles would fill Flint's position with anyone else."

"Yes, but you're not Bletchley."

"Well of course not."

Harry and Millie began debating the finer points of Chaser tactics, a discussion that lasted several hours and gradually incorporated the rest of the gang as they arrived one by one. Only when the old witch came by with the snack trolley did they finally change the subject.

"'Ministry reports greater efficiency,'" Tim read off the headline of the _Daily Prophet_. "'Ministry officials today announced that the government operated with a seven percent increase in efficiency during the last quarter. Several were quick to point out the Ministry's recent realignment as a likely cause.'"

"Good old dad," Draco bragged.

"So the new budget is actually delivering on its promises?" Blaise asked.

"Shocking, isn't it?" Tim replied. "Next thing you know, the Minister will give a speech in plain English."

Millie brought out a deck of cards at that point; she appeared to have had quite enough of talking. She dealt out a hand to everyone and started the game off. Tim promptly folded and went back to his book. Harry did the same; he would need every Seeker trick he could learn in order to help his team win.

By the time the train finally lumbered into Hogsmeade station, Harry felt restless enough that he wanted to grab his broom and play a pick-up game right then. Several of the manoeuvres in the book seemed absolutely brilliant, and he wanted to test them out.

"If only Weasley played Quidditch," he said regretfully as he packed away his book.

"Got some new tricks, have you?" Jenna asked.

"Hopefully."

New tricks were exactly what Harry needed. With Miles now team captain, they drilled every day, even stealing the pitch from Gryffindor on one occasion. Warrington (the Third) caught on very quickly, which was fantastic luck. He became a very aggressive player, right up at Flint's level. Miles slowly moulded his Chasers into a unified offensive force, with Bole and Derrick providing counter-defensive support.

Their next match was a month and a half away, and against Hufflepuff, but Miles acted as though they were playing Gryffindor in only two days. He took his new responsibility very seriously and worked the team like a slave driver. Harry and the others grumbled about it, chalking it up to some sort of rare disease that only infected Quidditch captains, but they all understood the necessity of the extra work.

January passed without incident, and the mood of the castle remained positive. Everyone began to wonder if the threat from the Heir of Slytherin had finally passed. Lockhart was heard to boast that he had apprehended the culprit behind all the attacks, slain the beast, and managed not to muss his hair in the slightest.

Harry personally didn't believe a word of it. His doubt was to prove well-founded on Sunday the 31st. Harry was writing a Potions assignment when he and his mates heard a commotion in the hall. As they investigated, the milling crowd drew them to the common room.

"There's been another attack," Abraham Montague told them. "Emily Coxfield, a sixth year Hufflepuff, is now a stone statue.

"We prefects," he continued over the sudden hubbub, "are instituting the following rules: no Slytherin is to even so much as visit the loo by him or herself. Travel in groups of at least three people. There will also be a curfew imposed: nobody leaves the dorm after dinner without the knowledge and permission of a prefect."

That last rule evoked angry protests from the highly independent Slytherins. Abraham shouted them all down. "This is for our own protection!" he glared at them. "If we're not smart and careful, one of us could be used as a scapegoat. No one wants to spend the rest of his natural life in Azkaban prison."

Mollified, though still not pleased, the students drifted back to their rooms. Harry sat back down to finish his Potions homework. He didn't feel like talking; it would just be the same points raised yet again. Nobody had anything new to add. The knowledge that he, Harry, was suspected by much of the school was frustrating. Even on a night such as this night, when he had a rock-solid alibi, there were those like Weasley who would say that his friends were just covering up for him. A shame that the Heir wouldn't attack a pureblood: Weasley would make a fantastic statue.

"What are you grinning about?" Goyle asked.

"Just picturing Weasley being turned to stone."

"Is that your next plan?" Crabbe asked brightly.

"Not _my_ plan," Harry clarified.

"It is rather a lovely mental picture," Draco agreed.

Emily Coxfield's Petrification had further-reaching consequences than Harry could have imagined. The second year Slytherins were in Potions lecture when the door slammed open with a bang! All eyes snapped to the back of the room where Jamie Zabini slumped against the door frame. Her hair was mussed, her face was red, and her breath heaved in her chest.

"Professor!" she gasped. "Maddy needs help! Lockhart says she's the Heir of Slytherin!"

Snape's eyes became very dangerous indeed. "Where is she?"

"Herbology."

"Take over here."

Snape strode purposefully from the classroom, his black robes flowing like the wings of some avenging bird of prey. The gleam in his eyes and the set of his jaw said that he had finally had enough of Lockhart and his foolishness. The man had slipped his wand out of his sleeve; Lockhart appeared to be owed a hexing.

At the back, Jamie was hunched over with her hands on her knees, trying to catch her breath. When she straightened up and walked down the aisle to Snape's desk, her face was still flushed; evidently she'd gone from Herbology to the dungeons at a dead run.

"What was Professor Snape lecturing about?" she asked half-aloud as she scanned the chalkboard. She glanced down at Snape's notes.

"He was about to let us leave early," Blaise wagged.

"Not likely," Jamie retorted. "And raise your hand if you want to speak."

"He'd just got done with lobridoon," Weasley informed Jamie. "He was just mentioning the next topic when you came charging in."

"Five points from Gryffindor for not raising your hand, Weasley, as I _just_ instructed," Jamie glowered at him. "What _is_ it with Gryffindors not being able to follow simple instructions? Lines, Weasley, two hundred of them: 'I will obey the Hogwarts prefects,' to be turned in to me by the end of the week."

Even with Snape not present, Weasley still managed to get in trouble. His face flushed an ugly red, and he ducked his head. Jamie's eyes were hard as stone as she made sure he was done.

"Very well, the professor's notes indicate that he planned to discuss doxwood. Doxwood is a plant commonly found in Ireland. It looks like this." The prefect waved her wand and created an illusion. "Note the funny-looking leaves. Now then, the raw doxwood is good for aiding the digestion. The juice, extracted in the common fashion, is of great use in the brewing of potions because it causes a more rapid absorption effect. This can be important for certain potions that take time to have an effect, such as the Impervious Potion."

Jamie conducted the lecture with an efficiency that Snape would have found admirable. She was a smart girl, Harry acknowledged. She hadn't been named a prefect for just her charming smile. The class was very nearly ordinary. Snape's cool influence was obvious in the manner in which Jamie delivered the material. She even asked several questions to test them, and she awarded points for correct answers, docking them for mistakes.

Snape returned shortly before the end of the class. He slipped silently through the door and stood at the back, watching Jamie teach. Harry noticed the man only because he was reaching for his quill sharpener at the time. Jamie noticed him, of course, but, to her credit, she didn't let it distract her. She lectured right up to the bell.

"One and a half feet on the properties of doxwood. Include three examples of potions where you believe doxwood juice to of use and defend your reasoning," Snape called out over the noise as students hurried to put away quills, ink, and texts. Harry loitered outside the classroom.

"Ms. Zabini, I was most pleased with your lecture," the professor said warmly.

"Thank you, sir." Jamie's bright smile was a welcome sight after all her moping this year. "There was one mouthy Gryffindor, but they were pretty well-behaved overall. The Slytherins were angels, of course."

"Of course. Twenty points to Slytherin for outstanding performance under unexpected circumstances."

"Thank you, sir," she repeated. "How's Maddy? Is everything well?"

Snape's self-satisfied smile spoke volumes. "Ms. Fitzjean has gone to an early lunch. I expect she's waiting for you."

"And Lockhart?" Jamie asked distastefully. "Please tell me you killed him."

The teacher chuckled briefly. "Not that I didn't consider it," he admitted. "There can be no excuse for his behaviour."

"What did you do?"

"I'm afraid that's a matter left between teachers," he gently admonished her. "And Madeline can tell you all about it."

Jamie grinned at him. "Yes, sir," she said, rising up on her toes and clicking her heels together. She left the dungeon classroom with a spring in her step.

"Mister Potter, eavesdropping is a bad habit," Snape called out reprovingly.

Harry jumped. How the deuce did Snape know? He rolled around the corner and back into the room.

"Sorry, sir."

"Is there any particular reason you are loitering outside my classroom?"

"I just wanted to hear what you did to Lockhart," Harry said candidly. "I really don't like that git."

Snape's lips twitched. "I believe you. I'm sure the story will be all over the school even before the day is out, though highly exaggerated, no doubt."

It was time for Slytherin to face Hufflepuff on a cold, wintery pitch.

Harry felt no butterflies at all as he took a warm-up lap. The team had worked so hard since coming back from holiday, there was no doubt that they would win. They had prepared as much as humanly possible, and they _were_ the best team at Hogwarts. Cedric Diggory, his opposite, waved cheekily at him as they crossed paths. Harry found such mirth disconcerting and highly inappropriate. Hufflepuff was destined to be flattened today, and this fool could only grin like an idiot.

Slytherin took first possession, naturally, and Pucey, Montague, and Warrington (the third) went screaming down the pitch in a Hawkshead Attack formation. They passed the Quaffle back and forth with a quickness, never giving the Hufflepuff Chasers a chance to intercept. Pucey faked hard twice, and Warrington sent the Quaffle through the lowest hoop for the points.

"Slytherin scores the first goal," announcer Lee Jordan dispassionately told the crowd. "Ten points."

Harry cheered with the sea of green and silver as he whipped a quick spiral. "Go, Warrington!"

"The third!" came the faint reply.

Hufflepuff passed the Quaffle back out to the Chasers and promptly lost it again, as the Slytherin Beaters bashed the Bludgers in their direction. Harry was relieved to see that both iron balls were acting normally again.

Harry tore his gaze from the game; he knew perfectly well how outstanding his team was. It was his responsibility to find and catch that Snitch. He scanned the pitch from end to end.

"Slytherin scores again," Jordan announced. "The score is now twenty to zero. Come on, Hufflepuff, show some life out there!"

It was nice to see that Jordan's personal feelings would not colour his commentary. Where was that Snitch?

Harry absently dodged a Bludger and watched Pucey and Montague soar by, tossing the Quaffle between them. One of the Hufflepuff Chasers took a dive at Pucey, hoping to knock him out of the way and intercept the ball.

"Harry!" Montague shouted - and he lobbed the Quaffle to the Seeker!

This was a trick Harry had discovered in _Seeker Tactics_. While there was a rule that only the Chasers and Keepers could _handle_ the Quaffle, there was nothing against what Harry now did.

Harry lined up his manoeuvre carefully and then spun in the air, using the tail of his broom just like a bat! The Quaffle gave a resounding smack and flew directly into Warrington (the third)'s waiting hands. He was down the pitch and had sent the ball through the middle hoop before Hufflepuff's Keeper could react.

"Warrington scores for Slytherin on the assist from Potter," Jordan said. "I'm sure that's illegal, but there's no call from Madam Hooch. There should be, but there isn't. Thirty-nothing, Slytherin."

"Good man, Harry!" Bletchley shouted downfield. "Find the bloody Snitch!"

"Aye, aye, Captain!" Harry wagged back. Once the golden ball came out of hiding, it would be in his hand.

"And Diggory takes off like a shot!" Jordan crowed. "He must have seen the Snitch!"

"Potter!" Bletchley screamed.

Harry pointed his broom towards Diggory and leaned forward with a zoom. His eyes scanned vigilantly all around, but he couldn't see the Snitch! Diggory looked back over his shoulder, no doubt checking to see how close Harry was. Then he grinned and turned front again as Harry closed in.

Diggory dove! Harry swore and dove after him. They were fairly high up, the two Seekers, but that ground was coming up awful quick. All of a sudden Diggory broke off, yanking the shaft of his broom up sharply and climbing away.

It was a fake! Harry was only metres from eating a dirt sandwich! He hauled back on his broom, but he wasn't going to level out in time! He had only seconds! Harry braced his heels on the tail of his Nimbus 2000, pulling himself nearly vertical. He felt a bone-jarring thud as the butt of the broom connected with the ground. Hundreds of thin, delicate twigs snapped with a sound like a thousand eggs cracking. His entire body shook with the shock, and he barely stayed on the broom. Wobbly as gelatin, he climbed back into the sky.

"Potter falls victim to the Wronski Feint!" Jordan exulted. "How's that dirt taste, Potter?"

Before he left Hogwarts, Harry decided, Jordan needed to be strung up.

Harry's prized broom was severely damaged. More than half the tail twigs were broken right off, and the rest were all bent. The broom listed to the left now, and it had suffered in the area of speed. He couldn't accelerate as rapidly, and the top speed was slower than specification.

"You miserable sod!" he shouted angrily at Diggory. "My broom's gone wonky!"

"All's fair, Potter!" Diggory hollered back. "And _that_ was for Emily!"

Diggory's accusation struck Harry like a smack across the face. He snarled something unintelligible and flew away from the tricky bastard.

"All right, Harry?" Bole asked.

"Hit that wanker with a Bludger!" Harry requested vehemently.

"Done!"

Bole flew up a few metres and caught the zooming Bludger as it approached. He soared down close to Diggory, tossed the iron ball up, and swung his bat ferociously. Diggory, unaware that a Bludger was in such close proximity, caught the blow in the back of his head and took a tumble. He slipped from his broom and landed in a heap on the grass and didn't move.

"And Diggory is down!" Jordan announced. "We need a medic on the field! Penalty shot to Hufflepuff."

"Ye bastard!" Bole called as he flew over Diggory's crumpled form.

"And Hufflepuff misses the penalty shot. With their Seeker down, is there any way that Hufflepuff can eck out a victory today?"

Not if Harry had anything to say about it. He peered down the pitch, eyes straining. The Snitch had better come out to play soon, or Harry was likely to grow irritated.

"Pucey takes a hit from a Bludger and drops the Quaffle," Jordan prattled on. "Hufflepuff recovers- goal! Hufflepuff scores!"

Harry scowled. He glared at Jordan and - stared. Fluttering along the railing at the top of the stands - was the Snitch!

"Potter is speeding directly towards the announcement booth," Jordan said, a touch of emotion finally entering his voice.

The Snitch, finally aware that it had been sighted, zoomed away with Harry hot on its tail. The rest of the world fell away from him; there was nothing else except the winged, golden ball. Even on a damaged broom, Harry felt almost casual as he reached out to pluck the prize from the air. Then he stopped, hard, whistling in the air as he pulled to a halt inches from Jordan's nose.

"That's the match," Harry said casually into the microphone, dropping the golden ball in the startled announcer's lap.

"Potter catches the Snitch," Jordan said with disgust. "Slytherin wins."

The stands erupted with Slytherin cheers.

"Good show, Harry!" Bletchley congratulated him. "Did you know you're bleeding?"

"What?" Harry touched his face. Sure enough, his fingers came away red.

"Better get yourself up to the hospital wing and have Madam Pomfrey check you out."

"My broom," Harry sighed, able to take note of the damage for the first time.

"I think it might be thrashed," Bole said sympathetically.

"It might be fixable," Derrick argued.

The team fell into a discussion of whether Harry's broom was fixable, and if so, how much it would cost. Harry himself took Bletchley's advice and headed for the hospital wing.

"Madam Pomfrey?" he said as he opened the door.

"She's not here." A girl's voice replied. Weasley's baby sister Ginny was putting sheets on the beds.

"Where'd she go?"

"To place an order for some tea, I think. She doesn't exactly talk to me other than to give orders."

"That's right, you've still got detention," Harry remembered.

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Only until Valentine's Day, thank _God_."

"Don't expect any sympathy from me," Harry directed her. "After what you lot did, you should have been expelled."

"I told you before, it wasn't _my_ idea," she said peevishly. "I just got dragged along."

"I'm just glad there was _one_ Weasley who knew the difference between right and wrong," he needled her.

"Now listen, you-"

At just that moment, Madam Pomfrey returned to the hospital wing. "Ah, Mister Potter. That's a splendid cut on your cheek, and quite a remarkable bruising on your forehead as well. Been playing at Quidditch, have you? Well, from the smile on your face, I'd say you deem the victory worth it, no?"

"Yes, ma'am," he grinned. Was their victory _that_ obvious on his face?

"Miss Weasley, why are the beds not all made yet? Well, perhaps when you finally finish with that you can bring up the bucket and scrub the floors again."

Ginny gave Harry a look of death, but wordlessly set back to making up the beds. Harry tried not to flinch as Madam Pomfrey efficiently cleaned up his cuts and bruises. When she finally sent him on his way, he was blinking back tears from all the stinging.

Harry took the shortest routes he knew as he left the hospital wing. There was celebrating to be done in the Slytherin common room. At the second floor, he turned down the main corridor and took his third right. There was a shortcut at the end of this hall that would take him to a tapestry just outside the entrance hall.

He couldn't help but glance down the dark corridor. That was where the writing on the wall had appeared, announcing that the Chamber of Secrets was open. The message was still there; Filch had proven powerless against the might of this epic graffiti. He hadn't even gotten around to cleaning up the puddle of water that Harry and Tim had fallen into the night Mrs. Norris had been attacked.

Harry frowned in thought. No, that puddle _had_ been cleaned up; he had used this corridor just a few days ago. Somehow the puddle had returned. Excitement clenched Harry's breath in his chest. Maybe this meant that the Chamber of Secrets was open now!

His wand came out immediately. If the Heir of Slytherin _was_ around, Harry intended to stop him, if only to clear his own name. The Heir's misdeeds were staining Harry's reputation.

The water splashed only slightly as Harry cautiously advanced. The puddle was coming out into the hall from under the door just yonder. Harry pushed it open slowly and peeked inside.

It was a loo. It was a _girl's_ loo. The water could clearly be heard now, flowing from one of the toilets. Piteous wails and cries came from the stall, and Harry realized that it must be Moaning Myrtle. He'd heard some of the older students mention her once as the punchline of a joke. She haunted a bathroom, he remembered, and never stopped sobbing.

Harry definitely didn't want to disturb Myrtle, so he turned to leave. She was obviously upset enough to break toilets. No clues to the Chamber of Secrets here.

His foot kicked something solid. A book? Harry picked it up gingerly. How odd. The book was as dry as a bone. "The diary of T. M. Riddle," he read off the cover. Now why did that name ring a bell?

This diary was definitely a tremendous clue, Harry decided. It was so blatantly out of place in a flooded bathroom that it was nearly vulgar. He tucked it into his pocket and quickly walked away. He certainly didn't want to have to answer questions about why he was hanging around a girls' bathroom right at the site of the first attacks.

Trying to act casual, Harry walked as quickly as he dared to the dungeons. He brushed past his friends and teammates, citing the need to visit the loo. In his room, on his bed, he sat down with the diary. The first thing he noticed was that it was completely blank. Not one single thing had been written - nothing visible anyway.

Harry tapped the diary with his wand. "Reveal your secret."

Nothing happened.

"_Aparecium!_"

Nothing happened. Harry wasted the next twenty minutes trying to figure out the diary's importance. It refused to tell him anything.

"Wotcher, Harry?"

"Draco, Tim, good. Come here; I've found a clue."

"A clue, you say? To what?"

"To the Heir of Slytherin." Harry briefly explained how he'd found the diary.

"Very out of place," Draco agreed. "But it's telling you nothing?"

"Right. Frankly, it's starting to irritate me."

Draco examined the little book. "Look here," he said.

Harry looked. Stamped on the back was the name of a variety store on Vauxhall Road, London. "Riddle was Muggleborn. He had to have been."

"He couldn't have been," Tim objected. "Riddle was a Slytherin prefect fifty years ago. He won numerous awards, became Head Boy, and was generally a smashing chap."

"Fifty years ago?" Harry echoed. "Draco, didn't your dad say that the Chamber of Secrets had been opened before?"

"Yes, fifty years ago." Draco seemed curious. "You think they're somehow connected?"

"Why else would I have found his diary?" Harry wanted to know. "Especially right there at the wall with the writing on it."

"But it won't tell you anything," Tim concluded.

"Right. I've tried every spell I can think of. Riddle was a Slytherin prefect, right? If we can get this diary to talk, it could spill all the beans. Riddle could know everything, and he'll tell us because we're Slytherins."

Tim dug into his trunk and pulled out what appeared to be a big red eraser. "My Revealer should do the trick," he said, rubbing hard on the date of the first page.

But it did not. And neither did any other trick that they tried. Finally they gave it up and went back to the celebration of Slytherin's win over Hufflepuff.

to be continued...


	17. Beware The Ides of March

**They Shook Hands : Year Two**

An alternate (but realistic!) universe Harry Potter fic  
by Dethryl

**Chapter Seventeen - Beware The Ides of March**

The following Sunday happened to be St. Valentine's Day. Because of their copious celebration of the Quidditch victory, the students of Slytherin House were somewhat delayed in their arrival at breakfast. As they walked through the doors, Harry nearly jumped out of his skin. Had they gone in the right door?

The walls were covered with large, lurid pink flowers. Worse still, heart-shaped confetti was falling from the pale blue ceiling. Lockhart, the great fop, was wearing equally lurid pink robes to match the decorations, standing at the front of the Head Table with his lips smiling so wide it looked as though his teeth were trying to climb out of his face.

At the Slytherin table, Pansy, Blaise, and Jenna were all giggling like mad. Crabbe looked as though his stomach bothered him. Harry shoved aside a scattering of rose petals and reached for the pancakes.

"Yeck, even the syrup is pink," he gagged. Sure enough, instead of good old maple, he'd grabbed the strawberry sauce instead. "Good thing I like strawberries. What the bloody hell is all this then?"

"Happy Valentine's Day!" Lockhart shouted. "And may I thank the forty-six people who have so far sent me cards! Yes, I have taken the liberty of arranging this little surprise for you all. Some good cheer is precisely what this castle needed. And it doesn't stop there!"

_Oh no, there was more?_

Lockhart clapped his hands, and through the doors to the entrance hall marched a dozen surly-looking dwarves. Not just any dwarves, though. Lockhart had them all wearing golden wings and carrying harps.

"My friendly, card-carrying cupids!" beamed Lockhart. "They will be roving around the school today delivering your valentines! And the fun doesn't stop here! I'm sure my colleagues will want to get into the spirit of the holiday! Why not ask Professor Snape to show you how to whip up a Love Potion? And while you're at it, Professor Flitwick knows more about Entrancing Enchantments than any wizard I've ever met, the sly old dog!"

Poor Professor Flitwick buried his face in his hands, but Snape looked furious. The first person to ask him about Love Potions was likely to be drowned in a batch of first-class poison instead.

"Wonder what old McGonagall would help us with," Draco sniggered.

All day long the dwarves marched through the corridors of Hogwarts, being sent here and there by the increasingly amused students. A few Knuts was all it cost to send someone a card, and the generally wealthy Slytherin students wasted a fair chunk of pocket change by sending all kinds of wild messages around the school. Draco and Harry sent a valentine to Weasley, signing Granger's name on it; the NEWT-level Transfiguration students sent McGonagall one with a hex inside. Late that afternoon in the Great Hall, a particularly grim-looking dwarf came to the Slytherin table.

"'Arry Potter!"

"Oh no," he groaned. He'd already gotten valentines from a dozen people today. "Very well, give me the card."

"No card," the dwarf said with an evil sort of leer as he twanged his harp in a threatening manner. "I got me a song."

"Harry's got a singing valentine!" the girls giggled together with delighted amusement.

Harry's cheeks flushed. "Dear god," he shook his head. _Was there no limit to this insanity?_

"_His eyes are as green as a fresh-pickled toad,  
His hair is as dark as a blackboard.  
I wish he was mine, he's really divine,  
The hero who conquered the Dark Lord!_"

Harry snorted pumpkin juice through his nose. The rhyme was hack verse at best; probably something Weasley had come up with. As he mopped at his face and blew his sinuses clear, his friends were shrieking with laughter. He sighed ruefully. Cupid-dwarves had been quite the decent joke, but it had gone a bit far.

Thankfully all the confetti, and cards and hearts disappeared come Monday. Even so, Harry's first class was Potions, where no hint of the holiday could be found regardless. Professor Snape seemed even grimmer than usual. Maybe he hadn't gotten any cards.

Snape set them directly to the work they'd left off on Thursday, which had needed to be chilled over the weekend. Harry was just finishing adding his final ingredient when the professor called upon his gopher.

"Weasley, fetch some rose stem from the stores."

"Go get it yourself," the boy muttered.

"What was that?" Snape swooped in on the Gryffindor. "What did you say?"

"I said go get it yourself." Weasley was showing no fear as he mouthed off. "I've been counting down the days, and now my detention is _over_."

Weasley exulted in his freedom as Snape stood silent a moment, his eyes unreadable. He seemed stunned that Weasley was daring to speak in that tone of voice (Harry certainly was!) Then slowly, his yellowed teeth were bared as Snape's lips pursed in a wicked sort of smile. He gave a soft, evil-sounding chuckle.

"Over? Wrong, Weasley. Your detention is _not_ over. You'll report here, as usual, at the end of classes today, and every day until I say otherwise. That will be five points from Gryffindor for your cheek, now go - and fetch - the rose stem."

Weasley's defiant stare slowly crumbled in the face of Snape's awful glare. He lowered his head, but Snape kept on staring. He looked back up, flinched away from that implacable face, and hurried out of the room.

"Wow," Harry breathed.

"Weasley's quite full of himself, isn't he?" Blaise whispered.

"A bit less so now, I wager," Harry replied.

The sun had now begun to shine weakly on Hogwarts again. The snow was finally starting to melt a little, and Harry only had to wear two sweaters for Quidditch practice that afternoon instead of three.

He was still no closer to unravelling the mysterious diary, and he was frankly starting to get a little annoyed at the thing. He'd tried everything he and his friends could think of, but to all appearances, it was an ordinary Muggle diary. Frustrated enough for one night, Harry shoved it to the side and dipped his quill to write his Charms assignment.

He'd been at it nearly forty-five minutes when he heard Millie shouting out in the hall. "Crabbe, get back here!" His thoughts were interrupted as the door to the room crashed open and Crabbe lumbered in with Millie hot on his tail. Crabbe was holding something, Harry couldn't see what, and Millie was lunging for it. She managed to get a hold on Crabbe's wrist, and a wrestling match ensued.

Crabbe was one of the biggest boys in the second form (and third and fourth form as well!), but Millie was no pixie, and the tomboy was probably stronger than Harry. The two rolled around, struggling for possession. It was amusing enough, in an exasperating sort of way, but Harry really did have to get his work done.

"Take it somewhere else, would you please? Hey!" he shouted in surprise as the pair rolled towards him. He jumped out of the way just in time; with a loud crash, they knocked over his writing desk, sending parchment, ink, and quills flying.

"You gits!" Harry exclaimed. "That's my Charms essay you've just ruined!"

Millie stood up, whatever she'd been after firmly in her grasp, but a look of remorse on her face. "I'm so sorry, Harry," she apologized. Then she turned to glare at Crabbe. "See what you did?"

"What _I_ did?" he repeated incredulously. "You mean you had nothing to do with it?"

"Ogre."

"Hag."

"Troll."

"Enough!" Harry shouted. "Out! Both of you!"

His parchment was soaked with black ink. How disgustingly awful. It was also on his books, his desk, the floor, and him. Harry started picking things up with a sigh of resignation. Everything was covered except for Riddle's diary. _Hang about._ The diary was sitting in the middle of an ink spatter. Harry gingerly opened the cover: not a drop of ink to be found; the pages were bone dry. What was going on?

"I heard there was a slight accident." Percy Weasley knocked on his door. "Wow, it seems that I heard right."

"Can you help?" Harry asked, putting the diary to the side for now.

"Absolutely." Percy stepped closer and examined the mess. "This is simplicity in itself. There's a difference between spilled ink and written ink. You have to apply a bit of maths and tweak the spell a bit, but you can remove ink spilled by accident from a parchment you've been working on. It's just a matter of differentiating by intent."

Harry nodded as if he'd understood a single word of that. Percy must have noted his confused expression, because he merely patted Harry on the arm. "Let me show you."

Percy waved his wand, and ink floated into the air, coming off the floor, the desk, and everywhere else it had spilled. Many black drops lifted up from the parchment, leaving Harry's Charms essay unmarked! The ink collected into a levitating sphere, and Percy directed it back into the inkwell.

"Simple as that," he said modestly.

"Wicked!" Harry was very impressed.

"Just sixth year Arithmancy," Percy demurred.

"It was brilliant, Percy. Thank you."

"You're welcome. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a pair of second years to yell at for a bit."

Percy had definitely loosened up a lot since he'd become a part of Slytherin House. Around people who were remarkably similar to himself, he'd really started to be a decent chap. Harry couldn't imagine the stick-in-the-mud Percy Weasley of Gryffindor House doing anything so nice as what Percy Weasley of Slytherin had just done. There wasn't a drop of stray ink anywhere.

Harry flipped through the pages of Riddle's diary again. Every page was spotless. It might as well have not been there when the ink went flying. Curious, Harry dipped his quill anew and dropped a large blot onto the first page of the diary.

The ink shone brightly on the paper for a moment, and then, as though it was being sucked into the page, it vanished. Harry drew in his breath; what strange magic this was. He dipped the quill again and wrote, "My name is Harry Potter."

The words shone momentarily on the page, and they also sank without a trace. Then, after all his days of experimenting, something finally happened. Oozing back out of the page, in the very black ink he'd been using, came words Harry had never written, in a handwriting not Harry's own.

_"Hello, Harry Potter. My name is Tom Riddle. How did you come by my diary?"_

The script was very formal, as though the writer had had a very proper instructor. These words, too, faded away. Harry felt a stab of ecstasy. He'd figured it out!

"I found it," he wrote. "Someone dropped it in a puddle of water."

_Lucky that I recorded my memories in some more lasting way than ink. But I always knew that there would be those who would not want this diary read."_

"What do you mean?" Harry scrawled.

_"I mean that this diary holds memories of terrible things. Things that were covered up. Things that happened at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."_

"I'm at Hogwarts now," Harry wrote. "Terrible things are happening now, too. Do you know anything about the Chamber of Secrets?"

_"Yes."_

Harry's heart leapt. Finally! He steadied his shaking quill. "Tell me."

Riddle's reply came quickly, the handwriting becoming sloppier, as though he was hurrying to tell all he knew. _"In my day, they told us it was a legend, that it did not exist. This was a lie. In my fifth year, the Chamber was opened, and the monster attacked several students, finally killing one. I caught the person who had opened the Chamber, and he was expelled. They gave me a nice, shiny, engraved trophy for my trouble and warned me to keep my mouth shut. The Headmaster, Professor Dippet, was shamed by what had taken place, you see, and he put out the story that the girl had died in a freak accident. He forbade me to speak the truth, but I knew it could happen again: The monster lived on, and the one who had the power to release it was not imprisoned."_

Harry's glee was near-tangible. He was moments away from knowing all the answers. "The Chamber is open once more. Who did you catch? Please tell me!"

_"I can do more than tell you,"_ came Riddle's reply. _"You don't have to take my word. I can _show_ you."_

Harry hesitated only a moment. "How?"

_"I can take you inside my memory of the night when I caught him."_

How he could be taken inside someone else's memory was something Harry didn't understand at all. Then again, he didn't understand how this diary was talking back to him either. He glanced at the door, which was shut.

"Yes," he wrote.

The pages of the diary began to blow as though caught in a high wind, stopping halfway on June thirteenth. Bright golden light began to shine from the pages, and Harry felt himself slipping away from the dorm and into the pages of the book in a whirlwind of colour and shadow. His feet hit solid ground, and he stood shaking as the blurred shapes around him suddenly came into sharp focus.

Where the deuce was he? It was a large, circular room. Paintings of wizards and witches covered every inch of the walls. There was a shelf filled with a clutter of things, and up at the top was the Sorting Hat!

This must be the headmaster's office. Those people in the portraits must be past headmasters and headmistresses. Which would mean that the position was filled by the man sitting at the enormous, claw-footed desk.

It certainly wasn't Dumbledore!, Harry realized with a shock. But of course, Tom Riddle had said that a man named Dippet was headmaster. This Dippet was a wizened, frail-seeming fellow. He was bald except for a few wisps of white hair, and he was currently reading a letter by candlelight.

Dippet seemed to not have noticed Harry, so he pulled back out of sight. The wizard was absorbed in reading his letter, frowning slightly. He finished, folded it with a sigh, stood up, walked to the window to draw the curtains.

The sky outside the window was ruby-red. The sun seemed to be just setting. The wizard absorbed the scene for a moment, but returned to his desk, sat down, and twiddled his thumbs as he watched the door.

There came a knock.

"Enter," Dippet said in a feeble voice.

A boy of about sixteen entered, taking off his pointed hat. A silver prefect's badge was glinting on his chest. He was much taller than Harry, but he, too, had jet-black hair.

"Ah, Riddle."

"You wanted to see me, Professor Dippet?" said Riddle. He looked nervous.

"Sit down. I've just been reading the letter you sent me."

"Oh." Riddle was gripping his hands very tightly together.

"My dear boy," Dippet began kindly, "I cannot possibly let you stay at school over the summer. Surely you want to go home for the holidays?"

"No," Riddle said at once. "I'd much rather stay at Hogwarts than go back to that- to that-"

"You live in a Muggle orphanage during the holidays, I believe?

"Yes, sir," said Riddle, reddening slightly.

"You are Muggle-born?"

"Half-blood, sir!" Riddle corrected hastily. "Muggle father, witch mother."

"And are both your parents-?"

"My mother died just after I was born, sir. They told me at the orphanage she lived just long enough to name me. Tom, after my father; Marvolo, after my grandfather."

Dippet clucked his tongue sympathetically. "The thing is, Tom," he sighed, "special arrangements might have been made for you, but in the current circumstances, I'm afraid-"

"You mean all these attacks, sir?" Riddle questioned. Harry's heart leapt, and he moved closer, scared of missing anything. This was a memory, he realized; it had already happened. Harry was no more than an observer. Nobody would be able to see him.

"Precisely," the headmaster said quietly. "My dear boy, you must see how foolish it would be of me to allow you to remain at the castle when term ends. Particularly in light of the recent tragedy - the death of that poor little girl! No, you will be far safer at your orphanage. As a matter of fact, the Ministry of Magic is even now talking about closing the school. We are no nearer locating the- er, source of all this unpleasantness-"

Riddle's eyes had widened. "Sir, if the person was caught, if it all _stopped_-?"

"What do you mean?" said Dippet with a squeak in his voice, sitting up in his chair. "Riddle, do you mean you know something about these attacks?"

"No, sir," Riddle denied quickly.

Dippet sank back, looking faintly disappointed. "You may go, Tom."

Riddle slid off his chair and slouched out of the room. Harry followed him down the moving spiral staircase, a feature Harry was amazed at. They emerged next to a gargoyle statue up on the fourth floor. Riddle stopped, chewing at his lower lip. His forehead was furrowed in thought.

Decisively, he suddenly hurried off. Harry ran after him, matching older boy's fast pace. They didn't see another person until they reached the entrance hall, when a tall wizard with long, sweeping auburn hair and a thick matching beard called to Riddle from the marble staircase.

"What are you doing wandering around this late, Tom?"

Harry gaped at the wizard. He was none other than a fifty-years-younger Dumbledore.

"I had to see the headmaster, sir," Riddle answered.

"Well, hurry off to bed," Dumbledore advised, giving Riddle exactly the kind of penetrating stare Harry knew so well. "Best not to roam the corridors these days, not since-" he broke off with a sigh. "Ah, but these are not your problems. Good night, Mister Riddle."

"Good night, sir."

Riddle watched Dumbledore walked out of sight, and then headed quickly for the dungeons. Harry followed him straight down the stone steps at once, but to his disappointment, Riddle led him not to some hidden passageway or secret tunnel, but to the very dungeon in which Harry had Potions with Professor Snape! The torches hadn't been lit, and when Riddle pushed the door almost closed, Harry could only just see him, standing stock-still by the door, watching the passage outside.

It felt as though they were waiting there for at least an hour. All he could see was the figure of Riddle at the door, staring through the crack, still as a statue. When Harry finally stopped feeling expectant and tense, he finally heard something move beyond the door.

Someone was creeping along the passage. He heard whoever it was pass the dungeon where he and Riddle were hidden. Riddle, quiet as a shadow, edged through the door and followed. Harry, completely in the moment, tiptoed along behind him.

For perhaps five minutes they followed the footsteps, until Riddle stopped suddenly, his head inclined in the direction of new noises. Harry heard a door creak open, and then someone was speaking in a hoarse whisper.

"Gotta get yeh outta here. C'mon now, in the box!"

There was something familiar about that voice.

Riddle suddenly jumped around the corner. Harry stepped out behind him and could see the dark outline of a huge boy who was crouched in front of an open door next to a very large box.

"Evening, Rubeus," Riddle said sharply.

The boy slammed the door shut and stood up.

"What yer doin' down 'ere, Tom?"

Riddle stepped closer. "It's all over. I'm going to have to turn you in, Rubeus. They're talking about closing Hogwarts if the attacks don't stop."

"What d'yeh-"

"I don't think you meant to kill anyone. But monsters don't make good pets. I suppose you just let it out for exercise and-"

"It never killed no one!" the large boy denied, backing against the closed door. From behind him, Harry could hear a funny rustling and clicking.

"Come on, Rubeus," said Riddle in a persuasive voice as he moved closer still. "The dead girl's parents will be here tomorrow. The least Hogwarts can do is make sure that the thing that killed their daughter is slaughtered."

"It wasn't him!" the boy roared, his voice echoing in the dark stone passage. "He wouldn'! He never!"

"Stand aside!" Riddle ordered sharply, drawing his wand.

His spell lit the corridor with a sudden flaming light. The door behind the large boy flew open with such force that it knocked him into the wall opposite. Out of that door came something that prompted Harry to let out a long, piercing scream unheard by anyone.

A vast, low-slung, hairy body and a tangle of black legs; a gleam of many eyes and a pair of razor-sharp pincers. Riddle raised his wand again, but was too slow. The beast bowled him over as it scuttled away, tearing up the corridor and out of sight. Riddle scrambled to his feet, looking after it. He raised his wand, but the bigger boy jumped at him.

Riddle was casting more magic as the scene whirled in front of Harry's eyes. The blackness darkened and became complete. Harry felt himself falling, and he landed with a crash spread-eagled on his four-poster bed in the Slytherin dormitory. Riddle's diary lay open on his stomach.

Dizzy and nauseous, Harry felt like retching, and from more than just the after-effects of the magic. Him? Hagrid? Rubeus Hagrid, the Heir of Slytherin? Harry wanted to vomit.

He was not the only one of that mind either. When Harry related what he'd seen and heard in the diary to his friends, more than one was moved to gag.

"That moronic chump is no descendant of the great Salazar Slytherin," Tim asserted flatly. "I don't care _what_ some mouldy old prefect's diary says."

Pansy nodded her head. "For once I agree with Tim. It's unthinkable."

"It's impossible," Jenna agreed. "Harry's not tall enough to be Hagrid's grandson."

"You silly bint," Harry said as he poked her in the side. "I tell you, I am _not_ the Heir of Slytherin. Be serious."

"I am." She stuck her tongue out at him.

"Hagrid does have a fondness for great murdering beasts," Millie mused. "That part of the memory is probably entirely true."

"Hagrid _would_ raise some giant spider in a box under his bed," Jenna concluded.

"He was planning on raising a dragon in a wooden hut," Harry reminded them.

"And don't forget that three-headed dog guarding the Philosopher's Stone last year," Blaise contributed.

"As if I could," Draco scoffed.

"They must have been so desperate to find the culprit that nobody ever considered that Riddle hadn't actually caught the Heir," reasoned Tim.

"And like any Slytherin, the Heir used the distraction to cover his tracks. When the attacks stopped, nobody asked any more questions." Draco was nodding as it all made sense for him.

"Then the Heir just finished school, married into the Potter family, and lived a good life," Jenna giggled.

"If you're so convinced that I'm the Heir, then take an order and shut it."

"Well then, any student whose father was at Hogwarts fifty years ago is suspect," Draco figured.

"Why would it have to be a man?" Pansy demanded.

"Because men are methodical and girls are scatterbrained," Tim answered. "Especially you."

"I'm methodical about hating you," she snarled.

"Bite me, vampire."

"I'll tear your throat out."

"Why don't you change into a bat and fly away?" he suggested.

"Why don't you start running before I start chasing you with a knife?"

"Aren't they just so cute?" Jenna said wryly to Blaise.

"In total."

The last weekend in February saw Ravenclaw demolish Gryffindor on the Quidditch pitch. Without proper Beater support, the Chasers were completely vulnerable and could only manage a handful of goals. Oliver Wood was a fine captain and a talented Keeper - even the Slytherins were prepared to admit it - but finding replacements for the Weasley twins seemed to daunt even his skills. Panning, Gryffindor's Seeker, was, of course, absolutely awful.

"When is Wood going to realize that she's totally hopeless?" Harry questioned on the way to Transfiguration the following Monday.

"He probably already has," Millie pointed out. "The problem is that everyone else in his house is as bad or worse. Gryffindor hasn't had a competent Seeker in eight years now."

"That was Charlie Weasley," Tim informed them. "He led Gryffindor to six straight Cups."

Harry opened his mouth to make a snappy comment, but a loud tearing sound interrupted him. His books, quills, parchment and ink all went flying as his old and tattered bag finally gave up the ghost. Harry stood and stared at the mess for a few silent moments. Wonderful.

"Oh no!" Blaise ran after his escaping ink bottle.

"Don't bother," Harry sighed. "I'll get it. No sense in all of us being late."

"Are you sure?" Millie asked. "Old McGonagall will be right put out with you."

"She's _always_ put out with me for one thing or another," Harry rued. "I'll survive."

Harry watched with resignation as his blank parchment swirled up the corridor in the slight draft. Perhaps he should just skiv off Transfiguration entirely; he could always plead a stomach-ache and copy the notes from Tim.

"Need some help?"

Harry looked towards the source of the strange voice and was considerably startled to see Ginny Weasley standing there. Now why on earth would she offer to help him?

"Bad luck," she said as she gathered up parchment, not waiting for him to accept her offer. "Anything break?"

"Thankfully no," Harry wasn't sure why she was being nice to him, but he wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. "The bag is a loss though."

"My mum would stitch it right up," Ginny told him. "It's not a loss until it disintegrates entirely."

"I'll just buy another one," Harry shrugged. "And maybe one for you by way of thanks."

The girl went red as could be. "T-that won't be necessary," she stammered.

"Slytherins pay their debts," he told her. His bottle of ink went into his pocket; his quills were tucked into an inner pocket. He wrapped the straps around the stack of books as best he could. "I should just go back to bed."

"I wouldn't wander the halls alone, if I were you," Ginny advised him.

"Thanks. And thanks for the help."

"Bye," she waved, as Harry hurried to class.

By some amazing stroke of luck, old McGonagall's back was turned as he got there. Moving as quickly and as quietly as he could, Harry slid into his seat and breathed a sigh of relief. He sat towards the back anyway, so hopefully the professor wouldn't have missed him. Fortune, however, was truly not with him this day.

"You are late, Mister Potter." Old McGonagall's steely gaze was upon him, and now he had a taste of what Weasley felt from Snape. "Explain yourself."

"My bag tore," he dutifully explained, holding up the bag as evidence. "All my stuff scattered everywhere."

McGonagall crossed the distance to inspect the bag up close. Harry flinched reflexively as she drew her wand, but she uttered only a simple, "_Reparo!_," and the tear knit itself seamlessly.

"Now then, today we shall be changing flowers into goblets. Turn to page three hundred."

The lesson that day wasn't bad, but two weeks later, Harry and his friends were stumbling from Transfiguration in a daze. Whatever Professor McGonagall had been talking about today, it had been dreadfully obscure and terribly complicated. Even Tim, who normally was very ace at the subject, was shaking his head as they left the classroom.

"God, I've never felt so stupid!" Pansy complained.

"Me neither," Jenna agreed.

"I think I hurt something." Millie was holding a hand to her head.

"Maybe someone ought to tell old McGonagall that we don't speak Greek," Goyle grumbled.

"I swear, we used every letter today," Tim griped. "I think I'm going to be sick."

"Why do we always have to pass this hallway?" Harry asked, suddenly feeling irritated. They were walking by the corridor with the writing on the wall, and Harry had grown a bit superstitious about the place. He avoided it to avoid drawing suspicion on himself.

"Because it's the quickest route down to the dungeons," Draco answered him.

"We need to find a better way."

"You boys go ahead," Pansy said then. "We'll meet you in the common room." The gang had decided to take a break after the torture of Transfiguration.

"Afraid to face me at chess?" Tim needled her.

"I fear nothing," she declared.

"We just need to stop by the loo and freshen up," Blaise told Tim. "I want to wash my face."

"Why, did old McGonagall make you cry?"

"Very nearly," she admitted. "I'm pretty horrible at Transfiguration, you know."

"Not completely horrible," Draco encouraged her. "Goyle's worse."

"We won't be long," Pansy promised.

"You can go drown yourself in the sink for all I care," Tim retorted.

"So you say," she said as she stuck out her tongue.

"What's that smell?" Crabbe asked suddenly.

"It's not time for dinner yet, fathead," Draco pointed out.

"No, I smell it too," Goyle said, wrinkling his nose. "Something is burning."

"It's coming from the loo."

"Let's check it out."

The two big boys drew wands and peered through the crack of the door. "Clear."

"Open it up," Goyle urged his friend. "I've got you covered."

The door creaked open to reveal a bathroom filled with grey smoke that curled slowly from one of the stalls. Tim slowly eased the swinging door open. "Look here," he said. "Someone's been breaking a few rules. There's a fire in the toilet, and a cauldron bubbling away."

"Smells overdone to me," Jenna quipped.

"Any idea what potion it is?" Millie asked.

"What's this then? _Moste Potente Potions_?"

"That's a restricted book!" Draco exclaimed.

"The nasty little secrets some people keep," Crabbe observed with a grunt.

"The potion is pretty much crisped," Tim noted as he took an experimental stir.

"Oi Harry, come back here," Draco called out.

Harry left Tim poking at the cauldron and moved towards the rear of the loo. There was something on the floor, Harry saw. He peered closer and received a shock as he realized it was a person! It was that insufferable Granger girl. What the heck was she doing here? Why was she on the floor?

A queer feeling overcame Harry as he thought about it. Then Draco nudged the girl with his toe. She didn't move. Her flesh gave way beneath his shoe, so she wasn't Petrified. Her eyes were wide and staring.

"Bloody hell," Draco breathed. "She's dead."

A piercing shriek echoed off the tiled walls. Blaise had her hands clapped to her cheeks in horror.

Goosebumps broke out over Harry's skin. "Dead?" he croaked through a suddenly dry throat.

Millie looked stupefied. Pansy seemed about to faint. Jenna was green in the face. Surprise was plain on Crabbe and Goyle's faces, and even Tim seemed shocked. Only Draco seemed unmoved as he turned his back.

"I'm grabbing the book," he announced, matching his words with actions. "It could come in handy someday."

"Might I suggest that we don't want to be here?" Harry suggested in a sick voice. "That girl over there is _dead_ in case you hadn't noticed."

"I noticed," Draco said in an unconcerned tone. "But _we_ didn't do it. We've been in class with old McGonagall, and everyone knows it."

"You really have no concept of danger, do you?" Harry couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Grab your precious book if you must, but let's get the hell out of here!"

There was a gushing sound just then, and Harry turned to see Blaise throwing up into the sink. He felt entirely sympathetic, but there was no time for being delicate right now. Harry ushered his friends from the tiled bathroom and down into the dungeons.

Nobody spoke; they walked in silence, for which Harry was thankful. He was churning internally over whether they should report what they'd found.

"Hello, second-years," Abraham Montague warmly greeted them as they came into the common room. He was the only other person present, reading one of his textbooks in a comfortable chair before the fire.

"Abraham, we need to tell you something," Harry blurted before he could talk himself out of it.

"What's going on, Harry?"

Harry nearly stumbled over his words as he told the Head Boy about how they had stumbled on Granger's body. His voice was shaking near the end, and the awful enormity of it all was finally hitting him.

"I must inform Professor Snape," Abraham said when they had finished. "You've done well. I'll take it from here. Try not to think about it."

"Already forgotten," Draco assured him.

Shortly after the school sat down to dinner, it seemed there were some unexpected guests. A shortish man with rumpled grey hair and an anxious expression was coming through the entrance hall with two tall fellows in grey robes. He had a most curious assortment of clothes: a pinstriped suit, a scarlet tie, a long black cloak, and pointed purple boots. Under his arm he carried a lime-green bowler.

"That's Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic!" Tim exclaimed to Harry.

"He doesn't look like much."

"He's not much," one of the older students laughed.

"Wonder what he's doing here," Draco frowned. "Those are Aurors he's got with him."

"It must be about Granger," Millie whispered. Harry had a sinking feeling that she was absolutely right.

"Dumbledore doesn't look pleased," Pansy noted.

"Having law enforcement show up during dinner would sour anybody's stomach," Goyle said.

The headmaster came down from the High Table and held a whispered consultation with the Minister. Fudge's expression was pained, and he had an appeasing sort of demeanour. He didn't give in, though, and Dumbledore finally sighed a great sigh and nodded his head in resignation.

Fudge gestured to the Aurors, and they moved with amazing quickness to guard - Hagrid?

"'Ere now, what's all this then?" Hagrid rose to his feet and stared intimidatingly down at the Aurors, who were now being hesitant.

"Hagrid, let's not make a fuss now," Fudge pleaded. "Come along quietly, please."

"Where to?" the big man demanded to know. Everyone in the Great Hall was hushed to hear the Minister's reply.

"Your record is against you, Hagrid." Fudge was sweating now. "The Ministry's got to act. I've got to take you."

"Not teh Azkaban prison!"

"Yes."

Hagrid swelled himself up, seeming to bunch his shoulders in preparation for some berserk action. Both Aurors drew their wands as the gamekeeper kicked his chair back. He lunged at one of the armed wizards. A nasty hex was his payment, but the flash of red light barely slowed Hagrid down. The Auror crumpled as Hagrid's big fist slammed into his gut.

"Hagrid, stop!" Fudge shouted.

The second Auror cast a spell, and metal bands appeared in the air. They wrapped around Hagrid, pinning his powerful arms to his sides, binding his legs together. Carried forward by his momentum, the man crashed to the hard stone floor. He wriggled and writhed, still struggling to get away.

All the students watched in shock as the two Aurors stilled Hagrid's movements and levitated his unconscious carcass from the Great Hall. Minister Fudge wiped the sweat from his brow; he looked as though he wanted to say something as he tucked his handkerchief into his pocket.

"Sorry to have interrupted your meal," he apologized. "The law waits for nobody."

With that enigmatic statement, Fudge departed. Dumbledore, looking very old indeed, sat back in his chair. He didn't eat anything. After only a short time, he left the table.

The remainder of dinner was a riot of conversation and speculation. Nobody knew what to make of the arrest; nobody knew the history except for Harry and his friends. Nobody knew how there was a link between Hagrid and all the attacks, but surely there was one, it was whispered, or else the Ministry would never have taken Hagrid away.

to be continued...


	18. Fear and Worry

**They Shook Hands : Year Two**

An alternate (but realistic!) universe Harry Potter fic  
by Dethryl

**Chapter Eighteen - Fear and Worry**

The Great Hall was very quiet the next morning at breakfast. Seeing the place where two Aurors had disrupted routine so greatly was enough to quiet even the firestorm of chatter that had been lit off by that very event. Students looked up at the High Table, at each other, back, forth, and all over again. When the food was served, everyone was grateful to have the excuse not to speak.

Professor Dumbledore was not in his seat at the High Table. Strange. The old wizard was always twinkle-eyed and cheery as he greeted students on a new day. Perhaps he was making fireplace calls trying to get Hagrid released.

Harry numbly spooned cereal into his mouth. This had all gone too far; this was really real. First a girl murdered in a bathroom, now a very likely innocent man arrested? Where would it end?

His melancholy musings were interrupted by the arrival of the morning post, but not even the fine sight of dozens of owls swooping into the Great Hall could cheer him today. Harry looked for his own bird, but Regal was nowhere to be found.

"Post's here," Jenna observed. "Draco, you've got something."

Arlette, Draco's eagle owl, did indeed have a letter for him. She landed between the butter and the bagels and dropped the envelope squarely into Draco's plate of eggs.

"Hey!" Draco protested. "Stupid bird!"

"She's not stupid!" Jenna exclaimed. "Good girl!" she cooed, holding out a piece of bacon. Arlette snapped it up and hooted in satisfaction. She launched into the air, leaving a couple of fluffy feathers to float gently to the table.

"Jenna, have you been corrupting my owl?" Draco demanded.

"Me?"

"Yes, you!"

"Would I do that?"

"Of course you would!"

Jenna's face fell, and she looked ready to cry. "How can you say that?" she accused him in a wavering voice.

"Yeah, Draco, how can you say that?"

"Stay out of it, Parkinson!"

"Don't tell me what to do!"

"Don't tell _me_ what to do!"

"Suck an egg!"

"She _still_ did something to Arlette!" Draco retorted.

"It's just your imagination," Jenna told him with the straightest of faces.

Draco scowled at her and opened his letter. "It's from Father!" he announced delightedly. "He and the other governors have sacked Dumbledore!"

Several nearby heads turned to look. Draco's voice had been just a tad too loud.

"A half-dozen Petrifications, finally a death, and they only now take action?" Blaise questioned rhetorically.

"Father says that he only now has the support of the rest of the governors," Draco read. "The rest had some ridiculous sentimental attachment to Dumbledore and wouldn't act before now."

"So what's going to happen to the school?" Millie asked. "Without Dumbledore here-"

"Dumbledore is not Hogwarts. The governors will simply select a new Headmaster," Tim informed them all. "One who will be equally powerless to stop the Heir of Slytherin."

"They'll be talking about closing the school," Harry said morosely. "They did in Riddle's time."

"They can't close Hogwarts!" Pansy exclaimed loudly. More heads turned.

"They can, and they will." Harry looked directly into Pansy's face. "They were a day away from it last time, and it's only a matter of time until it happens again."

Pansy shivered in his intense gaze. Her pretty green eyes grew worried. "Do you really think so?" she asked in a suddenly hushed voice.

Harry nodded. "I can't let it happen. I can't. I've got no place to go." If Hogwarts closed, he would be sent back to the Muggles, and Harry would beg in the streets of London before _that_ happened.

By the end of the day, it seemed as though a thousand different rumours were flying around the school. The school was to be closed; it was to stay open. Dumbledore would be back; he was gone for good. About the only rumour they _didn't_ hear was that the Chudley Cannons were favoured to win the Cup.

Deputy Headmistress McGonagall had assumed the reins of power at the school, a move which Draco's father assured them was only temporary. It was not known what, if any, new ideas the old witch had for catching the Heir and ending the madness. She ran her Transfiguration class just the same as always, which meant that Harry and his friends struggled mightily and mostly failed to understand. Potions class afterwards was always a mood booster after such torment, and Harry was glad to descend into the dungeons for Professor Snape's lecture.

"You'd think now that she's Acting Headmistress that she'd have better things to do than read two feet from each of us," Blaise complained as they walked. "Like catching the Heir of Slytherin, perhaps."

"A futile task."

Blaise sighed. "You're right, Pansy. None of her ideas worked before, and they won't work now either."

"She won't last," Tim predicted. "I don't think she has the right temperament for the job."

"Who does?" Jenna asked as she pushed open the door to the Potions classroom.

"Professor Snape," Draco answered her. "I say, that's a brilliant idea." As the Slytherins entered the empty laboratory and took their seats, he posed the question. "Professor? Why don't you apply for the Headmaster's job, sir? McGonagall's only filling in; we all know it. You're the best teacher here, sir, and I know you'd have Father's vote if you put in."

Snape couldn't suppress a thin-lipped smile. "Now, now, Mister Malfoy, let's not be hasty. Professor Dumbledore has only been suspended pending an inquiry. I daresay he'll be back with us soon enough."

"He let the attacks go on, and now a student is _dead_, sir. If he hadn't been removed, how do we know he would have done _anything_?"

"Regardless of how _you_ may have felt about _him_, Mister Malfoy, Professor Dumbledore cared deeply about every student at this school."

Further discussion was interrupted by the ring of the bell. The Gryffindor students were all late. Before Snape could wave his wand and shut the door, the lot of them ran into the classroom at full speed. Chubby Neville Longbottom tripped over his own feet and took a spill in the aisle. Draco and Pansy snickered a bit, but Harry rather felt bad for the boy. Weasley helped Longbottom to his feet, and the partners sat down to catch their breath.

Professor Snape eyed them all with a cool gaze. Surprisingly, he said nothing. Perhaps still full of good cheer from Draco's praise, the Potions Master let the infraction slide. Or he could have been storing it up for later usage; one never knew with Snape.

New security measures were announced that night. All students were to be escorted from lesson to lesson by a teacher. When not in class, students were required to remain in their Houses. Curfew now started after dinner, and violations would be severely punished.

Worst of all, Quidditch practices had been suspended. For once Slytherin House and Gryffindor House were in complete agreement, and also with Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff, that this was going too far. All parties protested loudly and in vain. Slytherin's Captain, Bletchley, and Gryffindor's Captain, Wood, even went to McGonagall together to plead for mercy to no avail.

Harry chaffed at the new restrictions, as did his friends. As the days passed and nothing untoward happened, the drastic measures seemed more and more onerous. Harry himself grew more irritable and waspish as the day when the school must inevitably close drew ever nearer.

Professor Snape seemed very wroth because of the long minutes he now had to spend herding students through the corridors. It was time taken away from his brewing, tongues wagged, and all the school knew how badly he reacted when that happened. The Potions Master was downright grumpy as he escorted them to their next classes. On the Thursday before Easter, it appeared that he had had enough.

"Slytherins, I must escort these Gryffindors, but I trust you are capable of finding the common room by yourselves?"

They had no more classes that day.

"Yes, sir."

Snape nodded. "Excellent. Carry on then." He swept from the room.

"Of course the Heir won't touch _them_," Harry heard Lavender Brown whisper nastily as the Gryffindors followed Snape out. The door closed behind the last one, and the Slytherins were alone in the Potions classroom.

"So what shall we do?" asked Millie.

"We could duel, I suppose," Crabbe suggested. "Our practice room is right down the way."

"Are you in a strange mood to get hexed?" Goyle teased him.

"We could brew up a potion." Draco had developed a burning desire to experiment with the recipes in Moste Potente Potions; brewing was his new favourite thing to suggest.

"There's no girls' toilet nearby," Jenna snickered.

"Can we please not talk about that?" Blaise made her request with a green face. Jenna had confided to Harry at breakfast that morning that Blaise was having nightmares about bodies on the floor, and they had all noticed that she wasn't quite the same old Blaise.

"Sorry," Jenna apologized.

"Oi, Crabbe!" Millie exclaimed. "The tapestry room!"

Crabbe smacked his palm against his forehead. "I'd forgotten all about it!" he confessed.

"Me too."

"Tapestry room?" Tim inquired.

"There must be hundreds in there," Crabbe replied. "Really old ones, too. I think it must be some sort of storage room, because there's boxes and stuff there too."

"Well let's check it out," Pansy urged. "Anything's better than Transfiguration homework."

"How about Charms homework?" Jenna quipped.

"Oh, shut up." Charms was Pansy's worst subject this year. And last year.

As Millie led the way through the dungeons, Harry could not help but be reminded of the time he had traced similar steps following Tom Riddle. Millie turned left where Riddle had gone right, however, and soon after, she pushed open a door and lit the torch in the sconce. What Harry saw took his breath away.

Dozens and dozens of tapestries lined the walls in brilliant, rich colours. Scenes of wizards battling horrible monsters leapt out like illustrations for some of Lockhart's outrageous stories. Dragons, fairies, angels, demons, and other things Harry had no name for were rendered in stunning detail.

"Wow," he exclaimed in a whisper.

"I'll say," Draco echoed. "I am officially impressed."

How long they wandered around the room in frank amazement, Harry could not have said. It was Tim's startled shout that broke the spell and sent them running towards the back. Tim was examining a tapestry featuring a tall man wearing black robes. The man's face was vaguely simian, but his eyes were piercing; it seemed that he was watching them. Most peculiar was that this wizard had a very big snake coiled about his arm, resting its head on the man's shoulder. Great yellow eyes glared angrily at them, and Harry felt a chill enter the room.

"Who's that?" Draco asked.

"I think it might be our bloody founder," Tim breathed.

"Where do you get that from?"

Tim pointed to the corner. "See? Ess, ess. Salazar Slytherin."

"That's an artist's mark. Our founder was not a bleeding weaver!" Goyle protested.

As they discussed the strange picture, Tim fell silent. His brow furrowed as he studied the tapestry and bent his brain to unravelling its meaning.

"Eureka!" he shouted suddenly, making Harry leap out of his skin.

"Tim?" Draco questioned.

"I think I've got it!"

"Got what?" Harry asked.

"I just need to check my books!"

"Tim!" Pansy sounded very annoyed, but Tim ignored them all and bolted from the room. The others trailed behind him as he sprinted down the hall.

"What is he on about?" Blaise panted.

"Could be anything," Jenna gasped.

They finally caught up to Tim as he was sitting down on his bed. He had a book in his hand, and he was frantically flipping pages. He came to a pause and started reading, tracing down the page with his finger. Harry's breath caught in his throat at the wild look in Tim's eyes.

"I've solved it," he whispered, scarce heard above his friends' heavy breathing.

"What?" Harry didn't dare to hope. Surely he hadn't- could his brilliant, bookish friend have figured it all out?

"It's a basilisk, Harry." Tim handed him the book. "The beast of the Chamber is a basilisk."

Harry read:

"_Of the many fearsome beasts and monsters that roam our land, there is none more curious or deadly than the Basilisk, known also as the King of Serpents. This snake, which may reach gigantic size and live many hundreds of years, is born from a chicken's egg, hatched beneath a toad. Its methods of killing are most wondrous, for aside from its deadly and venomous fangs, the Basilisk has a murderous stare, and all who are fixed with the beam of its eye shall suffer instant death. Spiders flee before the Basilisk, for it is their mortal enemy, and the Basilisk flees only from the crowing of the rooster, which is fatal to it."_

Harry rocked back on his heels. "Great Merlin," he swore.

"Harry, let me see." Draco took the book. "_Basilisks are uncontrollable except by Parselmouths, and are thus just as dangerous to most Dark wizards as to anyone else._"

"It all fits," Harry said to Tim.

"Three different roosters have been killed this year," Tim told them. "And it certainly explains the voice Harry's been hearing. Nobody else can hear it because Harry's a Parselmouth."

"But it doesn't say anything about Petrification here," Draco objected.

"Interference," Blaise said, reading over his shoulder.

"What?"

"Something blocked part of the power."

"The camera!" Draco realized. "That first year tried to take a picture of it!"

"Exactly," Tim nodded. "Remember Finch-Fletchley? He must have seen the basilisk _through_ Sir Nick. And the ghost couldn't die again."

"That doesn't explain the sixth year girl," Goyle said.

"Yes it does," Millie said. "They found her with a make-up mirror in her hand. It must have come up behind her, and she saw the reflection."

"Tim, you're a genius," Jenna congratulated him.

"Thanks."

"So what now?" Pansy asked. "Should we go tell Professor Snape?"

"Yes," Harry said immediately. "If they can't stop the Heir, they'll close the school."

"You don't know that."

"I saw Professor Dippet's face," Harry replied. "He looked the same way all the teachers look now."

"Father won't let them close Hogwarts," Draco pointed out.

"It might not be up to him," Harry answered. "If the rest of the governors are scared-" he trailed off with a shrug.

"Let's wait until it gets to that point," Draco argued. "We're in no danger, and what should we care about the Mudbloods?"

"They don't deserve to die for something outside their control," Harry argued back.

"I bet they already know the beast is a basilisk," Pansy wagered, "and they just don't want to cause a panic."

"You can't know that," Harry said, throwing her own words back in her teeth.

"Maybe we'll get lucky and the thing will kill Lockhart," Jenna suggested.

Harry baulked. Finally he was forced to admit, "That _would_ be delightful."

"So there we are."

"Jenna, how did you change my mind?" Harry demanded. "I was dead-set."

"I appealed to your base desires."

Though he had been persuaded to inaction, Harry's worries continued. His fears of the school closing infected his sleep, and he would toss and turn in the grip of dark and threatening dreams where Aunt Petunia would lock him in the cupboard under the stairs while a mob of Uncle Vernons gathered around and laughed at him. His sleep was not restful, and Harry grew more short-tempered with each class he sat in. His patience was finally taxed to the limit in Defence, as it happened, and Harry could no longer contain himself.

It all started when Lockhart bounded into the classroom looking downright buoyant, but he stopped in his tracks and stared at them. "What a bunch of glumfaces!" The class stared back at him. "Come now, I know that none of you were in danger from the beast, but surely you have friends in other Houses who were. There should be a bit more cheer in this room, even if you are all Slytherins."

_What the heck was _that_ supposed to mean?_

Pansy raised her hand. "None of us wants the school to close, Professor."

Lockhart coughed in an insulting sort of overly polite way. "The danger has passed now, Miss Parkinson. The culprit was taken away!"

"Oh yeah? Prove it," Harry flatly challenged him.

"My dear boy," Lockhart said condescendingly, "The Minister of Magic would hardly take away Hagrid unless he were one hundred per cent certain of his guilt."

"Oh yes he would," Draco chimed in.

"I wager I know a _touch_ more about the situation than you do, Malfoy."

Harry stood up. "You don't know anything," he said, amazed at his own nerve. "And I've got better things to do than listen to you tell stories about how great you are."

Harry shouldered his bag and walked defiantly past the sputtering idiot and out the door. Every one of his friends stood up and followed him. Nobody said anything until they were back in the stone safety of the dungeons, and then Tim doubled over with laughter. The rest of the gang degenerated into hysterics.

"That was perfect," Tim wheezed. "Harry, bloody brilliant."

"Should have done it months ago," Millie said from the floor.

In Herbology class on Friday morning, Professor Sprout had seemed close to tears. She was Head of Hufflepuff and hadn't smiled since the fatal attack, but she had not let her sorrow affect her work.

"The Mandrakes are coming along quite splendidly," she had told them. "Their acne is just clearing up, and soon they'll be trying to move into each others pots. That's when they're fully mature, and then we can save _some_ of those poor children."

"That won't help Granger," Draco had said in an undertone. Professor Sprout heard him, to judge from the stricken look that crossed her face, but she let them leave the greenhouse without comment.

News of Granger's death had spread across the Hogwarts grapevine by this point. Some of her friends had started asking questions about her sudden disappearance and had finally been told the truth by persons unknown. Now the Hufflepuff table was a sombre place, marked with uncontrollable sobbing, shock, and despair on the part of the whole House. The stink of fear was ripe.

Once the girl's demise had been acknowledged, the choir had decided to dedicate the Easter performance to her. Harry, close to sick with his worries about the school closing, could barely focus his thoughts on the show, now only hours away.

Harry was trying to eat something for lunch when Professor McGonagall strode into the Great Hall. She looked exhausted, with dark circles under her eyes. Her jaw was square as she stopped in front of the High Table and faced the students.

"Attention, everyone," the old witch said. "I have an announcement to make." A hush fell instantly. A sea of wide eyes looked expectantly toward the Deputy Headmistress. "Tonight's choir performance has been cancelled. All students will return to their common rooms immediately. Curfew is now in effect, and any student who breaks it does so at risk of his own life. More information will be available from your Heads of House. Thank you."

There was a great deal of worried speculation going on as the students filed out of the Hall and towards their Houses. Harry had a sick feeling in his gut that what he had been dreading was finally here: there had been another attack and the school was closing. The Heir of Slytherin had won, and Harry would be exiled back to a lifetime with Muggles.

"It's time to tell Professor Snape," he said to Tim in a tone that brooked no argument.

His brilliant friend nodded. "It might be, at that. Something funny is going on. Let's tell him after the House meeting."

Professor Snape did little other than to reiterate the Deputy Head's words in the Great Hall. All students were restricted to their House without exception until morning. It was for their own protection, Professor Snape said with a twisted smile. He had good reason to be sarcastic: no Slytherin had come anywhere near the Heir's work. As the other students drifted to their dorms, Harry and Tim loitered near their Head, who was watching his House with an unreadable expression on his face.

"Professor?"

"Yes, Mister Potter?"

"We have to talk to you."

Snape must have heard something in his voice, because he looked down sharply.

"We think Slytherin's monster might be a basilisk."

Snape's eyes narrowed. "Do I dare inquire how you have come to this conclusion?"

So they explained Tim's theory, citing all the evidence they had. Professor Snape listened to it all without a single interruption. Finally the two boys ran out of details to share and fell silent. Snape's brow crinkled as he analysed the story, and a small smile crossed his face.

"You boys realize that you've proven smarter than the entire faculty?"

Harry felt his face go red. "We just got lucky, sir," he demurred.

"Outstanding work. I'm very proud of you all. Take twenty points each, and more will follow. Perhaps there is some hope for Hogwarts after all."

Harry's heart jumped into his throat. "Then it's true, sir? They mean to close the school?"

Snape nodded grimly. "Pack your bags. All students are being sent home tomorrow. Now that we know the beast, perhaps we can reopen Hogwarts in the future, but this school year is over."

As Snape departed, Harry's black despair came to a peak. They had figured out the mystery, but it didn't matter one darn bit. Despite all his care and effort, his worst fears were being realized. There was nothing he could do to keep the school from closing short of catching and apprehending the Heir, and they still had no idea whom that might be.

Harry trudged to his room with a heavy heart. How could he face the Muggles? How could he bear Dudley's nasty comments and his uncle's ugly smirks? It made him want to cry.

Shortly after the sun sank below the horizon, dinner was sent to the common room. Harry had no appetite and stayed in his room, brooding.

"Go away," he said into his pillow when a knock came at the door.

"No."

Harry rolled over and saw Percy Weasley standing in the door. He looked a frightful mess, which was very unusual for the neat and tidy prefect. Harry could see traces of tears on his cheeks, and his lips were pale and bloodless.

"What do you want?" Harry asked moodily. He was too wrapped up in his own misery to care about anyone else's.

"I think you know," Percy whispered. "I'm sorry she hurt your friend, but please don't kill her."

"Kill who?"

"Ginny. I know she was taken into the Chamber. And it's obvious you're the Heir. You speak Parseltongue, you defeated a Dark Lord as an infant, and the only reason to take Ginny, a pureblood, would have to be a personal vendetta. She helped beat up Malfoy, your mate. But I'm asking you to give her back. I have something more valuable."

"What?" Harry was not pleased to discover that he could still be shocked today. Ginny was a Weasley, a pureblood - poorer than dirt, but still no Mudblood. She should not have been taken. He wasn't really surprised to learn that Percy thought Harry was the Heir. Most of the rest of the school did. He didn't bother to correct Percy; the words sounded hollow even to him these days.

Percy misinterpreted his question. "It's a map. It show you all the passages of the school and where everyone is. The possibilities of this are limitless for you. It's much better than some revenge on a first year."

Despite himself, Harry was intrigued. He knew where some of the secret passages were, but a map that showed them all? That _was_ quite a treasure.

"What do you mean it shows where everyone is?"

"I took this from my brothers on Halloween. It was this that led them to Malfoy. Allow me to demonstrate." Percy pulled out a folded over bit of parchment. He smoothed the thing out on Harry's desk. "Tap it with your wand and say, 'I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.'"

"Where's your wand?"

"Snape took it. He doesn't want me to go off half-cocked looking for the Heir. Fortunately, I knew where to find you."

Harry obligingly drew his wand and said the requisite words. At once, thin ink lines began to spread like a spider's web from the point that his wand had touched. They joined each other, criss-crossed, and fanned into every corner of the parchment; then words began to blossom across the top, great, curly green words that proclaimed:

Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs  
Purveyors of Aids to Magical Mischief-Makers  
are proud to present  
The Marauders Map

Percy opened the folds of the parchment and revealed a wondrous map showing every detail of the Hogwarts castle and grounds. What made it truly remarkable, though, were the tiny ink dots moving around on it, each labelled with a name in minuscule writing. Astounded, Harry bent over it. A bunch of labeled dots in the centre of the parchment showed that the teachers were having a meeting.

"Percy, this is incredible."

"It shows everything: people, pets, ghosts, secret passages, everything. I've been searching for hours, and I can't find Ginny anywhere on it. The Chamber of Secrets isn't on there either. Anybody can read it, but you can wipe it clean by tapping it with your wand and saying, 'Mischief managed!'"

"And you figured out how to work it?" He knew Percy was smart, but deciphering this artefact must have taken ages.

"Let's just say that Fred and George were, shall we say, _persuaded_ to tell me its secrets."

Which meant they probably hadn't enjoyed it. "Percy, you're a true Slytherin."

"Thank you. I knew this would please you. So can I have Ginny now?" Percy pleaded. "I won't tell the teachers it was you. I'll keep it secret. You can do with me what you wish. Blindfold me, leave me here to wait, whatever."

"Percy, this map is fantastic. But I'm afraid it doesn't help," Harry had to say.

Percy fell to his knees with a choked sob. "Then take _my_ life. I'll give you anything you want! Just please don't take Ginny! She's only eleven. My family can't lose her!"

As tears rolled freely down Percy's face, Harry felt his guts wrench. "Percy," he said hesitantly. "Hey, it'll be okay."

The older boy's shoulders were shaking. "Will it?"

Harry was about to respond when Percy's head snapped up. Harry heard footsteps in the corridor, and Percy hurriedly moved to the door. "I've got to go. I'm under lockdown. Please, Potter. Please."

And he was gone. Harry's thoughts were a jumble of confusion. Snape had told them the school would be closed, but seeing a prefect fall to pieces like that was certainly indicative that the situation was beyond hopeless. If Percy was still convinced that he was the Heir of Slytherin, then it was only a matter of time before others accused him as well. Circumstantial evidence would be enough to convict him. It had been enough to get Hagrid expelled.

There was only one solution: Harry had to save Ginny himself.

"So how am I supposed to do that?" he asked the empty room. "I don't know where the Chamber of Secrets is. Great Slytherin, what do I do?"

It was a rhetorical question, so Harry was considerably startled when a low, chilly voice answered him. "Open the Chamber."

"Who's there?" Harry demanded, scouring the room with his eyes.

A pale, silver shadow slid into the room. It was the Bloody Baron, Slytherin's House ghost. Harry hadn't heard the Baron speak since his Sorting when the Baron had predicted that he would do well in Slytherin.

_And he was certainly right about that._

"Baron? I can't open the Chamber; I don't know where it is." Had anyone questioned the ghosts? "Can you tell me?"

The Baron hissed sibilantly. "One who can help you is on the second floor. The Mudblood was not the first to die in that _bathroom_."

Harry started. "You can't mean - you don't - Moaning Myrtle?"

The Baron hissed again, and the silver blood down his front shimmered as he faded from sight.

Impressed with his ghostly visitor, Harry felt a spark of hope. Perhaps all was not lost. Tucking the Marauders Map away, Harry slowly went to his wardrobe and carefully began to dress for the cold of the castle night. He took his time, and tried to come up with an idea.

Firstly, he could discard any worries about breaking rules; with Hogwarts closing, it just didn't matter. He opened his trunk and pulled out the invisibility cloak that had belonged to his father.

"I could use some help tonight, Dad," he whispered.

Second, he needed to secure some assistance. There was no way he was going to hunt down the Heir of Slytherin alone. Draco or Tim, he decided. Perhaps both.

Third. _Third._ Harry tucked his precious cloak into an inner pocket of his heavy wool cloak and headed for the common room. His friends were just finishing up dessert when he arrived. Third, eat something. He sat down and dug a spoon into the snowdonia pudding. With an intense sort of single-mindedness, he devoured the remainder and looked up at Draco and Tim. "I need to talk to you two. Will the rest of you please excuse us?"

In the bustle as the last of the supper dishes were being cleaned up, the three boys ducked out through the stone wall. Professor Snape had restricted them from going further towards the castle than the Potions classroom, which left them a few corridors in which to loiter. Harry pulled his friends into a dead end just to make sure they weren't overheard.

"Harry, what's going on with you?" Tim said with a cocked head. "You're acting stranger than normal for this year."

"I need you to come with me," Harry requested. "I know where the Chamber of Secrets is, and I'm going inside."

"You _what!_"

"How could you possibly know that?" Tim demanded.

"Well I don't," Harry clarified. "But I will soon. I had a visitation from the Bloody Baron."

"The Baron spoke to you?" Draco said, awed.

"He told me that Granger was not the only Mudblood to die in that bathroom. Moaning Myrtle can tell us where the basilisk came from."

"They come from a chicken's egg," Draco smirked.

"You're not funny," Tim informed him. "That's amazing, Harry. Why is he helping you?"

"He didn't say. And I'm not about to ask."

"Let's go then," Draco said seriously. "We'll sneak into the Chamber, kill the basilisk, obliterate the Heir of Slytherin, and get awards and honours."

"And save Percy's sister." Harry filled them in.

Tim scowled. "The Heir has no business accosting a pureblood."

Even Draco didn't approve of this latest action, and he had been the Heir's most enthusiastic supporter. "Blood does mean something," he insisted. "I'll do my part, Harry."

As his friends went back to the dorm to get ready, Harry checked the Marauders Map. Professor Snape was in the Potions classroom, he saw, busy at his work bench. They would need to sneak past him.

Harry shook out his dad's cloak. It ought to cover the three of them, he judged, if they walked slowly and could keep in step.

"Ready?" Tim and Draco had returned.

"The others know something's up," Tim informed him. "And they're very put out with you for not sharing."

"It's going to be dangerous," Harry pointed out needlessly. "And my dad's cloak will barely cover us three."

"I told them they needed to cover for us. If someone were to come looking and find all nine of us gone, it would be very bad." Draco had a very good point. Someone needed to watch their backs.

Harry nodded. "Let's go." He flung the cloak over them all, and they vanished into the darkness.

Walking in sync, the three boys soon reached the Potions room. Harry peered through the open door and saw Snape hard at work. His focus on the task at hand was very intense. They made no sound, but Snape still looked towards them. His eyes searched them out, and he stared for a long minute before frowning and turning back to his work.

"Move," Harry breathed.

The castle felt downright abandoned. No teachers patrolled the corridors. No prefects asked their business. In no time at all they were up on the second floor, where the writing on the wall had spawned the whole mess.

Harry felt a lump in his throat as he read the second message from the Heir of Slytherin: "Her skeleton will lie in the Chamber forever." Summoning his resolve, he pushed open the door to the bathroom. Once they were safely inside, Harry pulled the invisibility cloak off, and Tim locked the door. Moaning Myrtle was sitting on the toilet tank in the last stall looking absolutely miserable.

"What do you want?" she asked when she saw them.

"To ask you how you died," Harry said promptly.

Myrtle's whole aspect changed at once. She looked as though she'd never been asked such a flattering question.

"Ooooh, it was dreadful," she said with relish. "It happened right in here. I died in this very stall. I remember it so well. I'd hidden because Olive Hornby was teasing me about my glasses. The door was locked, and I was crying, and then I heard somebody come in. They said something funny. A different language, I think it must have been. Anyway, what really got me was that it was a _boy_ speaking. So I unlocked the door, to tell him to go and use his own toilet, and then-" Myrtle swelled importantly, her face shining. "I _died_."

"How?" Harry asked.

"No idea," Myrtle replied in a hushed voice. "I just remember seeing a pair of great, big, yellow eyes. My whole body sort of seized up, and then I was floating away. . . ." She looked dreamily at Harry. "And then I came back again. I was determined to haunt Olive Hornby, you see. Oh, she was sorry she'd ever laughed at my glasses."

"Where exactly did you see the eyes?" Harry pressed.

"Somewhere there," Myrtle answered, waving vaguely toward the sink in front of her toilet.

It looked like an ordinary sink. Harry, Tim, and Draco examined every inch of it, inside and out, including the pipes below. And then Harry saw it: scratched on the side of one of the copper taps was a tiny snake.

"That tap's never worked," said Myrtle brightly as he tried to turn it.

"Say something, Harry," said Draco. "Something in Parseltongue."

"But-" Harry thought hard. The only times he'd ever managed to speak Parseltongue were when he'd been faced with a real snake. He stared hard at the tiny engraving, trying to imagine it was real.

"Open up," he said.

He looked at Draco, who shook his head.

"English," he said.

Harry looked back at the snake, willing himself to believe it was alive. If he moved his head, the candlelight made it look as though it were moving.

"Open," he said.

Except that the words weren't what he heard; a strange hissing had escaped him, and at once the tap glowed with a brilliant white light and began to spin. Next second, the sink began to move; the sink, in fact, sank, right out of sight, leaving a large pipe exposed, a pipe wide enough for a man to slide into.

Harry looked at his friends. "Why do we always seem to end up going down into dark holes?"

to be continued...


	19. The Chamber of Secrets

**They Shook Hands : Year Two**

An alternate (but realistic!) universe Harry Potter fic  
by Dethryl

**Chapter Nineteen - The Chamber of Secrets**

"_Open_," Harry hissed.

The sink sank out of sight, revealing a large pipe wide enough for a man to slide into.

Harry noted the determined expressions on his friends' faces. "Why do we always seem to end up going down into dark holes?" he joked.

"You can go first, Draco," Tim volunteered.

"Me? Why me?"

"I went before you last year."

Draco tipped his head. "I suppose that's fair." With a surprising lack of complaint, he jumped feet first into the pipe and let out a tremendous whoop as he slid rapidly out of sight.

Harry didn't waste time. He gave Draco a ten second head start and leaped in after him.

It was like rushing down an endless, slimy, dark slide. Harry could see more pipes branching off in all directions, but none as large as his, which twisted and turned, sloping steeply downward, and he knew that he was falling deeper below the school than even the dungeons. Behind him he could hear Tim, thudding slightly at the curves.

And then, just as he had begun to worry about what would happen when he hit the ground, the pipe levelled out. Harry shot out of the end and landed with a wet thud on the damp floor of a dark stone tunnel large enough to stand in.

"_Lumos_!" Harry muttered to his wand, and it lit up the darkness. Draco was getting to his feet a little ways away, covered in slime. Harry stood aside as Tim came whizzing out of the pipe, too.

"Damn, but that was fun!" Tim exclaimed.

"Can we do it again?" Draco agreed.

"You certainly couldn't get any dirtier."

"I'll panic about that when this is all over."

"We must be miles under the school," marveled Harry. His voice echoed in the black tunnel.

"I'd say we're under the lake," Tim observed, squinting around at the dark, slimy walls. "Judging from the wetness factor."

"There's only one way to go," Draco noted.

All three of them turned to stare into the uninviting darkness ahead.

"C'mon," Harry said finally, and off they went, their footsteps slapping loudly on the wet floor.

The tunnel was so murky that they could only see a little distance ahead, even with three lighted wands. Their shadows danced on the wet walls and seemed monstrous to their imaginations. All around them, it was quiet as a grave, so they all jumped when they heard a loud _crunch!_

"I think I stepped on something," Draco said in a shaky voice. Harry pointed his wand at the floor and saw the source of the unexpected sound. It was a rat's skull, now crushed to splinters beneath Draco's shoe. The whole ground was littered with small animal bones. Trying very hard not to imagine what Ginny might look like if they found her, Harry led the way forward, around a dark bend in the tunnel.

"Harry- there's something up there-" said Draco hoarsely, grabbing Harry's shoulder.

They froze, watching. Harry could just see the outline of something huge and curved, laying right across the tunnel. It wasn't moving. After an eternity, when Harry was convinced that it was asleep, he pointed his wand at it. The light slid over a gigantic snake skin, of a vivid, poisonous green, lying curled and empty across the tunnel floor. The creature that had shed it must have been twenty feet long at least.

"Blimey," Draco breathed.

"Whose idea was this again?" Tim asked lightly.

"Looks like you were right, Tim," Harry whispered.

"I hate being right, sometimes."

They crept around the giant snake skin carefully, trying not to think too much about the snake that had left it. The tunnel turned and turned again. Every nerve in Harry's body was tingling unpleasantly. He wanted the tunnel to end, yet dreaded what he'd find when it did. And then, at last, torchlight was visible as they crept around yet another bend. Ahead he saw a solid wall, adorned with a carving of two entwined serpents, their eyes set with great, glistening emeralds.

His friends hesitated at the edge of the light, but Harry continued his approach, though his throat was very dry. There was no need to pretend these stone snakes were real; their eyes looked strangely alive, and he could guess what he had to do. He cleared his throat, and the emerald eyes seemed to flicker.

"_Open_," said Harry, in a low, faint hiss.

The serpents parted as the wall cracked open, each half sliding smoothly out of sight, and Harry, shaking from head to foot, walked inside. He stood at the end of a very long, dimly lit chamber. Towering stone pillars entwined with more carved serpents rose to support a ceiling lost in darkness, casting long, black shadows through the odd, greenish gloom that filled the place.

Harry turned to beckon Tim and Draco forward, but- the door! It was sliding shut again! His friends ran forward but were too late. If they'd tried to squeeze through, they would have been crushed. The entrance sealed with a stony crunch.

"Draco!" he shouted, hammering on the wall. "Tim! _Open!_" But nothing happened. He couldn't hear anything from the other side. Harry took a deep breath. He was alone. _So be it_.

Harry raised his wand and moved forward between the serpentine columns. Every careful footstep echoed loudly off the shadowy walls. He kept his eyes narrowed, ready to clamp them shut at the smallest sign of movement. The hollow eye sockets of the stone snakes seemed to be following him. More than once, with a jolt of the stomach, he thought he saw one stir.

As he drew level with the last pair of pillars, a statue as high as the Chamber itself loomed into view, standing against the back wall. Harry craned his neck to look up into the giant face above; it was ancient and monkeyish, with a long, thin beard that fell almost to the bottom of the wizard's sweeping stone robes, where two enormous grey feet stood on the smooth Chamber floor. Filtered light lit a circle on the stone floor at the statue's feet, and Ginny was laying in the centre.

Harry slowly approached Ginny's still form. Whatever had brought Ginny down here was intelligent; this was most likely a trap. The girl looked like bait. He stepped forward slowly, holding his wand very tightly.

"Weasley!" he whispered, nudging her with his foot. She didn't move. "Ginny, wake up!"

"She won't wake," said a strange voice. Jumpy, Harry spun around, pointing his wand at the source. A tall, black-haired boy was leaning against the nearest pillar, watching. He was strangely blurred around the edges, as though Harry were looking at him through a misted window, but there was no mistaking him.

"Tom?" Harry was very confused. "Tom Riddle? How are you here? And what do you mean she won't wake? We're in an awful lot of danger, Tom. There's a basilisk down here."

Riddle didn't move. Harry stared at him. "Help me."

"I cannot," Riddle shook his head. "I don't have true physical form. Yet."

"What are you?" This was decidedly queer. "Are you a ghost?"

"A memory," Riddle said quietly. "Preserved in a diary for fifty years."

He pointed at Ginny, and Harry felt a shock as he recognized the little black diary that he had found in the second floor girls' bathroom. The last he'd known, the thing had been in the bottom of his school bag. Now it was clutched possessively in Ginny's little hands, open, and glowing with a strange, unholy light.

"What are you doing to her?" Harry could _feel_ the Dark magic at play here. The sheer magnitude of it was intimidating. All his cleverness would be required if he were to escape from this unscathed. If he panicked or showed weakness, Riddle would destroy him.

"That is really an interesting question," Riddle said casually. "Poor little Ginny is like she is because she opened up her heart and spilled all her secrets to an invisible stranger. She told me _everything_, all her pitiful woes and worries: how her brothers _tease_ her; how she had to come to school with second-hand robes and books; how her father lost his job at the Ministry, and how humiliated she was at having detention until February," Riddle paused. "My fault, actually. I gave her the idea of getting revenge on the Malfoy boy."

"Draco's my best friend!" Harry shouted. "_You_ did that?"

"The worst, though," Riddle prattled on, "was having to hear about how she had the most _awful_ crush on her brother Ron's worst enemy: the famous, handsome Harry Potter, one of those 'evil Slytherins'."

Harry took a deep breath. He couldn't afford another outburst. He needed to remain calm.

"It's very boring, having to listen to the silly little troubles of an eleven-year-old girl," Riddle continued, "but I was patient. I wrote back; I was sympathetic; I was kind. Poor little Ginny simply loved me. She wrote to me all the time, and every time poor little Ginny wrote in my diary, she gave a small piece of her energy to me, her life-force. It's a clever little bit of magic, I must admit.

"My performance was brilliant, if I do say so myself. I've always been able to charm the people I needed to. Poor little Ginny poured out her soul to me, and her soul happened to be exactly what I wanted. I grew stronger and stronger on a steady diet of her deepest fears, her darkest secrets. I grew powerful, far more powerful than poor little Ginny, powerful enough to start feeding poor little Ginny a few of my _own_ secrets, to start pouring a little of _my_ soul back into _her_."

Harry's mouth had gone very dry. While he wasn't quite as clever as some of his other friends, all the evidence was before him now.

"You're the Heir of Slytherin. You made Ginny open the Chamber of Secrets."

Riddle clapped mockingly. "Very good, Harry Potter. Poor little Ginny is the one who strangled the school roosters and wrote the messages on the walls. She set the Serpent of Slytherin on all the Mudbloods, and the Squib's cat. She didn't _know_ she was doing it at first, of course, and it took stupid little Ginny a very long time to stop trusting her dear friend Tom. She tried to dispose of the diary, and that's where you come into the story, Harry Potter. Of all the people who could have picked it up, it was _you_, the person I most wanted to meet."

"Me? Why me?"

"Poor little Ginny told me all about you, Harry Potter. I know your whole fascinating history." Riddle's eyes flicked up to the scar on Harry's forehead. "I knew I had to learn more about you, talk to you, even meet you if I could. I showed you my famous capture of that great oaf, Hagrid, to gain your trust."

"As if anyone could believe he were the Heir of Slytherin!" Harry burst out.

"True," Riddle admitted. "But it was my word against Hagrid's, and old Armando Dippet made the weak decision, as he always did. On the one hand, Tom Riddle: poor but brilliant, parentless but so brave, school prefect, model student; on the other hand, big, blundering Hagrid: in trouble every other week, trying to raise werewolf cubs under his bed, sneaking off to the Forbidden Forest to wrestle trolls. Even I was surprised by how well the plan worked. Surely _someone_ must realize, as you yourself have, that Hagrid couldn't _possibly_ be the Heir of Slytherin. It had taken _me_ five whole years to find out everything I could about the Chamber and discover the secret entrance. Hagrid had neither the brains nor the power!

"Only the Transfiguration teacher, Dumbledore, seemed to think Hagrid was innocent. He persuaded Dippet to keep Hagrid on and train him as gamekeeper. There's certainly not much else he's good for. Yes, I think Dumbledore might have guessed. He never did seem to like me as much as the other teachers did. And he kept an annoyingly close watch on me after Hagrid was expelled. I knew it wouldn't be safe to open the Chamber again while I was still at school, but I wasn't going to waste those long years I'd spent searching for it. I decided to leave behind a diary, preserving my sixteen-year-old self in its pages, so that one day I would be able to lead another in my footsteps and finish Salazar Slytherin's noble work."

"Your work stops here," Harry told him. "They're going to close the school, and I can't have that.

"Nor could I," Riddle said. "As you saw in my memory. But my work is less important to me now. For several months now, my new target has been you, Harry Potter. Imagine how angry I was when the next time my diary was opened, it was stupid little Ginny writing to me again. She saw you with the diary, you see, and she panicked. What if you figured out how to work it and I repeated all her secrets to you? What if I told you who had been strangling roosters, attacking students, and so on? The foolish little brat knew she'd never be able to break into Slytherin House, so she caught you between classes, made your bag tear, pounced on you, and filched it right in front of you."

_I knew that something wasn't right about that day,_ Harry thought with a lash of venom.

"Despite her interference, it was clear to me that you were working to solve the mystery. When poor little Ginny told me that you could speak Parseltongue, that the whole school suspected you, I knew you wouldn't be able to resist a chance to catch the true Heir and clear your name. I had to lure you into a confrontation, and I couldn't attack any of your friends because they are all purebloods. But poor little Ginny's brother had been adopted into Slytherin. I took a gamble that if I made Ginny write her own farewell on the wall and come down here, her brother would beg you to save her."

Riddle grinned hugely. "And once again, I am exactly right. Here you are: the hero, ready to save the damsel in distress, slay the foul monster, and all that rot. Poor little Ginny struggled and cried and was _very_ boring, but there's not much life left in her. She put too much into the diary, into me, enough to let me leave its pages at last. Soon she will die, and I will be reborn. Until that moment comes, I've been waiting for you, Harry Potter. I have many questions."

Harry's head was spinning. It was probable that he was in entirely over his head this time. "Like what?" he asked, stalling for time. The longer he kept Riddle talking, the longer he could try to figure out a plan.

"How is it that you, a skinny boy with no extraordinary magical talent, managed to defeat the greatest wizard of all time? How did you escape with nothing but a scar while Lord Voldemort's powers were destroyed?"

Precisely the question Harry had never had a satisfactory answer to. There was an odd red gleam in Riddle's hungry eyes now. Even more interesting was that Riddle spoke the name of Voldemort without fear, something Harry was not used to.

"Why do you care how I escaped?" Harry asked slowly. "Voldemort was after your time."

"Voldemort," Riddle said softly, "is my past, present, and future, Harry Potter. My full name is Tom Marvolo Riddle."

Riddle traced letters of flame in the air with his finger. With a snap, the letters rearranged, and a declaratory statement emerged: I am Lord Voldemort!

Harry's jaw dropped.

"It was a name I was already using in Hogwarts," Riddle continued with that self-satisfied look on his face. "Only my closest friends knew of it. As if I would forever keep the filthy name of the filthy Muggle who fathered me! I, in whose veins runs the blood of Salazar Slytherin himself!"

_The Heir of Slytherin was a half-breed? _Voldemort_ was a half-breed?_

"I, keep the name of a foul, common Muggle, who abandoned me even before I was born, because he learned that my mother was a witch? No, Harry Potter, I fashioned myself a new name, a name I knew wizards everywhere would one day fear to speak. They would fear _me_, the greatest sorcerer in the world!"

"_I_ don't fear you," Harry said defiantly. "I've seen what you are now: a pathetic shade, clinging to life by leeching off of others like a parasite." His earlier confusion was gone; even if he didn't fully understand, he knew what was important: Riddle was Voldemort, and Voldemort had killed his parents. "Whatever your plans are, I'm going to stop you, Voldemort. I stopped you eleven years ago, I stopped you last year, and I will stop you tonight!"

Riddle's grin seemed eerie and out-of-place. He walked over to between the high pillars and looked up into the stone face of Slytherin, high above him in the half-darkness. Riddle opened his mouth wide and hissed - but Harry understood what he was saying!

_"Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts Four."_

Slytherin's gigantic stone face was moving. Morbidly curious, Harry watched as the mouth opened wider and wider, to make a huge black hole. Inside the statue's mouth, something was stirring, slithering up from its depths. The huge snake poured out of the mouth of Slytherin's statue and hit the ground with a floor-shaking thud.

Harry shut his eyes tightly as he backed away. _Focus!_ he ordered himself.

"_Kill him_," Riddle hissed.

_"Back away!"_ he ordered the snake in Parseltongue. _"You have no wish to harm me."_

Riddle laughed. "Parseltongue won't help you, Harry Potter. It only obeys _me!_"

That couldn't be true. Tim's book had said that basilisks could only be controlled by Parselmouths. This one wasn't any more special than any other basilisk, though it was considerably bigger.

_"Stop where you are!"_ Harry commanded.

_"Kill him!"_ Riddle ordered.

The poor snake didn't know what to do. It was confused from having conflicting orders hissed at it. It coiled upon itself, withdrawing into a place of safety and shelter to work things out. The yellow eyes closed.

"It obeys only me, Harry Potter. It obeys only the Heir!" Riddle was laughing now, maniacally so. He obviously thought everything had been all wrapped up.

Harry took a deep breath to calm himself. He had to think. Riddle was lying to him; that was his first conclusion. He wanted Harry to stop giving orders in Parseltongue so that the basilisk would kill him. First part of the solution: Speak only in Parseltongue.

_"Then how come I'm not dead yet?"_ he demanded of Riddle. _"It won't attack one who speaks its language."_

A flicker of uncertainty passed across Riddle's face.

_"It obeys the Heir, but it listens to me too," _Harry said, growing more confident. _"Come to me,"_ he called out to the basilisk, putting all his force of will behind those words.

The king of serpents uncoiled itself. With only the sound of scales rubbing against scales, the basilisk slid quickly across the floor of the Chamber, answering Harry's call.

"No!" Riddle shouted, too stunned to speak in Parseltongue.

_"What is your name, my friend?"_ Harry asked.

_"The great one named me Eithne,"_ the basilisk replied.

_"A beautiful name,"_ Harry hissed. _"A beautiful serpent."_

Eithne curled around Harry, bringing her head up under his hand. He stroked her scales lightly. _"No one has ever asked my name,"_ she said sadly.

"This cannot be!" Riddle shouted. His voice clearly held his disbelief, his astonishment.

Harry glared at the ghost, or whatever he was. "It is a beast only the Heir can control," he said, paraphrasing the legend of the Chamber of Secrets.

"It is true!" Riddle shrieked.

"You are a failed and unworthy descendant of Slytherin," Harry accused. "You're nothing more than a shade from a time long past. You _are_ nothing. _I am the Heir of Slytherin!_"

The last words escaped his lips in Parseltongue, and the world seemed to shift radically. Dust filtered down from the ceiling as the whole Chamber shook. For a second, Harry saw the world through a red haze. Eithne had reared up sharply at his words. She poised herself to strike at Riddle.

"Begone, Riddle, and haunt this school no more," Harry commanded. His voice was unexpectedly deep and strong. "I banish you from Hogwarts forever."

Riddle drew himself up. "You cannot banish _me_," he hissed. "I-"

_"Strike!"_

The basilisk lunged forward, striking with amazing speed at Tom Riddle. Harry nearly choked when Eithne's head passed right through the apparition. Furious, she turned and lunged again with the same results. She held back, confused, hissing angrily.

Harry knew he could do one of two things: he could wait until Riddle finished draining the life-force from Ginny Weasley and became manifest again, or he could take action now. His eyes fell on the diary, clutched so fiercely in Ginny's hands. He ran to her side as quickly as he could. Prying the book from her fingers, Harry glanced about wildly for a burning torch with which to immolate the diary, but they were all too high for him to reach. His eyes fell upon the pool of water, but he rejected that. The diary would simply absorb all that liquid.

Liquid...

Harry watched, frozen in a moment of time, as venom dripped from Eithne the Basilisk's fangs. Venom: a liquid that was also deadly; a liquid that could kill. He ran to her, opening the diary as he went.

_"Bite this book!"_ he commanded her. She glared sullenly at Tom Riddle, but lowered her head and did as Harry asked.

Riddle screamed in agony as the first drop of venom was absorbed into the diary. A hole appeared in Riddle's chest with bright light shining from inside him. Harry watched dispassionately as drop after drop of venom dripped into the book, swallowed up by the magic. Each drop was matched by a shriek of agony. More beams of light began to burst from the shadow.

Finally it seemed that the diary could take no more. The fragments of light that were all that remained of Tom Riddle exploded into a flurry of rainbows before fading into darkness. Harry jumped and dropped the diary as it spontaneously began to burn. The flames lit the darkness for a moment, but the book was quickly consumed.

Harry took a deep breath. It was over. The reign of terror that had descended upon Hogwarts was lifted.

_"Thank you, my friend,"_ he hissed to the basilisk.

_"I never liked him much,"_ Eithne replied. _"He never talked to me. He never asked my name. All he did was give orders."_

_"It's over now,"_ Harry told her. _"And there will be no more killings. This school is my only home, my only refuge. I cannot allow it to close. This has to end."_

_"Killing is my nature,"_ she told him. _"It's what I do. I am a predator."_

_"No more people,"_ Harry told her firmly. _"You must never kill a student here again."_

She pouted for a moment, but she reluctantly agreed. Harry looked all around the Chamber. There was a door at the back that he almost went to go investigate, but fatigue suddenly gripped him, and he would have fallen to the floor had not Eithne helped him to stand.

_"You should leave this place,"_ she advised him. _"Return when you are strong again."_

Harry was about to let Eithne lead him out of the Chamber when a sobbing gasp drew his attention. He'd forgotten all about Ginny! He hurried to her side and got the air squeezed from him as she clung to him and wept. Harry did his best to comfort her, but she was inconsolable. Harry picked the girl up (she seemed to weigh almost nothing), and walked out of the Chamber of Secrets. The great doors at the end of the hall opened as he approached, and Draco and Tim jumped to their feet; they sat waiting for him on the other side.

"Harry!"

"Harry, you're alive!"

"Of course I'm alive," he said haughtily. "I'm the Boy-Who-Lived."

"You great pillock!" Draco exclaimed. "And you even rescued the baby Weasel."

"My name is Ginny, Malfoy."

"Hey, welcome back," Harry smiled at her.

"You can put me down now."

"I'm sure the story is fascinating, but let's cover the basics, shall we? Is the Heir dead?" Tim asked.

"It was Tom Riddle and his stupid diary," Harry snorted. "Yes, he's quite dead."

"Was it a basilisk, and is _it_ dead?"

"Yes it was, and under no circumstances. _Eithne, come meet my friends_."

Eithne the basilisk poked her head out of the doors, drawing a high scream from Draco, and causing Tim to call upon several different gods.

"That's Draco, and that's Tim, and this is Ginny."

The snake's tongue flickered in and out of her mouth.

"Harry. . . ." Draco said nervously.

Tim clapped him on the shoulder. "Remember what the book said? Uncontrollable except by Parselmouths. Harry's got himself a pet basilisk!"

Draco managed a weak grin. "Bloody marvellous."

Harry fought off a wave of dizziness. "_My friend, we need to get back up to the surface. Can you help us?_"

"_I will carry you._"

Eithne urged them to climb on her back, and when they were all securely seated, she slithered rapidly to the pipe by which they had descended to these depths. She darted into it with the greatest of ease, and Harry had to keep his head down to avoid bashing it against the top of the pipe, since the basilisk was so very big that she nearly filled the whole thing. They were moving at great speed, and Harry felt his ears pop as the air pressure changed. When they reached the top, they hopped off her back and out into the second floor girls' bathroom.

_"Farewell, Master,"_ the basilisk called to him, vanishing back into the depths of the school.

to be continued...


	20. The Heir of Slytherin

**They Shook Hands : Year Two**

An alternate (but realistic!) universe Harry Potter fic  
by Dethryl

**Chapter Twenty - The Heir of Slytherin**

Harry had done it. Against all odds, he had entered the Chamber of Secrets, confronted the Heir of Slytherin, and rescued Ginny Weasley from certain doom. Now he stood in the second floor girls' bathroom with Draco and Tim, the three best mates all extremely dirty and grimy from their journey beneath the school. Harry's legs felt like rubber; he was physically and mentally exhausted. It seemed like hours since they first entered the darkness.

"What now?" Draco asked with a cheeky grin.

"We should take her to Professor Snape," Tim counselled. "Or maybe the hospital wing."

"Snape," Harry decided. Their Head of House should know what had gone on this night. "He'll know best what to do." Harry removed the Marauders Map from an inner pocket and tapped it with his wand. "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

The Map showed that Professor Snape was still in the Potions classroom. A quick check told Harry that Snape was their best choice: Old McGonagall was closer, but she would never believe it if he brought Ginny to her door; more likely she would accuse him of being the Heir of Slytherin.

_Which, let's be fair, I am,_ Harry thought.

Draco and Tim flanked Ginny as Harry led their little procession down the back stairs, through the entrance hall, and into the dungeons. Draco reached out to stop Tim as he tried to open the classroom door. He turned to Ginny.

"Not a word about the basilisk. As far as anyone's concerned, it's dead. Understand, Weasley? If you tell anyone she's still alive, you'll regret it."

"Are you threatening me, Malfoy?"

"Malfoys don't make threats. I've got all the goods on you, Weasley. Unless you want to precede your delinquent brothers to Azkaban, I recommend you keep quiet."

Ginny glared at him, but she did not respond.

"They won't press you too hard. Just play dumb. Let us do the talking."

Ginny bit her lip. "Deal."

Harry felt his knees trembling with fatigue as he opened the classroom door. Snape was not there, but the door to his office was slightly ajar. Harry knocked on it politely.

"Enter!"

"Hello, Professor."

"Mister Potter, what brings you to my door- so- late-?" Astonishment entered Snape's voice as he looked up. "Miss Weasley, are you hurt?"

Ginny shook her head. "No, sir," she said in a meek voice.

"Sit."

Snape drew his wand and muttered a spell. He frowned and cast another, then fetched a small bottle from his shelves. "This will do," he murmured as he poured a small amount into a glass of water. The liquid had been clear, but now it turned bright blue. Ginny made a face as he handed her the glass. "Drink."

Few wizards, student or not, could withstand Snape's awful looks for long, and Ginny was no exception. She held her nose as she drank, but downed the concoction without pause.

Satisfied, Snape looked directly at Harry with his most penetrating gaze. "Start talking."

Harry began relating everything. Snape already knew about their suspicions of a basilisk, and that knowledge helped to save time. His tongue still became very dry as his student told all.

He was far too tired to hold anything back, and Harry related his visitation from the Bloody Baron (something that drew a raised eyebrow - but no comment - from Snape), their conversation with Moaning Myrtle, the Chamber of Secrets, and every word said by Tom M. Riddle. When Harry said that he had taken control of the basilisk, Snape sat down in his chair with a stunned look on his face. Certainly nobody could have expected _that_.

"And then?" he asked quietly.

"I told the basilisk to strike, but she just passed through Riddle because he wasn't fully real yet. Then I grabbed the diary from Ginny's hands, told the basilisk to inject some venom into it, and watched as Riddle sort of disintegrated. The diary burned itself to ashes."

"Then he carried Ginny out of the Chamber casual as you like," Tim concluded. "And here we are."

"The basilisk?" Snape queried.

"Locked back in the Chamber of Secrets," Harry said. "I told her that she must never harm a student again."

"I see. Well, we'll have to deal with it at some point."

"Must we, sir?" Harry certainly wouldn't help, and they couldn't get into the Chamber without him. "She promised."

"It's neither here nor there," Snape declared. "Miss Weasley, how are you feeling?"

"Fine, sir," she answered. "I want my mum and dad."

"Your parents should be arriving at any moment," Snape assured her. "They were called when we learned of your abduction." He tossed a handful of powder into the fireplace and placed a folded note into the flames. Harry saw a hand suddenly appear in the fire and pluck the parchment out.

"I have informed Professor McGonagall," Snape identified the hand, "and asked her to bring them here directly."

"Thank you, sir."

"You appear to have suffered no serious injuries, but I believe Madam Pomfrey will want to have a look at you. I won't send for her until you see your parents."

"Thank you, sir."

"You boys may go now. If I need more information, I will find you in the common room. Dismissed."

"Yes, sir," they said together and stepped back into the Potions classroom.

As they opened the door out into the corridor, they came face to face with the Weasley clan. Ginny's mother and father rushed right past them towards Snape's office, leaving their sons to face the Slytherins. The twins were flanking Harry's hated enemy, and all three had unfriendly scowls on.

Harry's fatigue vanished instantly as adrenaline coursed through his veins. "Out of my way, Weasley," he ordered peremptorily.

"Up yours," Weasley snarled.

"Harry saved your baby sister, Ronald," Draco sassed. "Do as he says." Weasley flushed an ugly red.

"Say 'thank you', Ron," snapped a voice in the hall. Percy Weasley stepped into view and directed a hard look at his Gryffindor brothers. He received a death glare in return, but the contest of wills was over almost before it began.

"Thanks," Ron muttered in near-inaudible decibals.

"You, too, Fred, George."

"Thanks-a-bunch," they muttered together.

"Now go see our sister," Percy ordered. The trio shuffled away.

"Harry, I don't know how you did it, but-"

"I'll tell you later. Go see Ginny," Harry returned. His knees were shaking again; the only thing keeping him on his feet was pride.

"Thanks."

Harry wanted to collapse on his bed when he got back to the dorm, but his plan was foiled when the girls piled into the room, demanding to know where he had been. Harry groaned and threw his pillow at them. "Draco and Tim can tell you. I just got done telling Snape."

"Not good enough, Harry. We want it from the source. Don't your friends deserve that much?"

"Jenna, you're a pain."

"I know. So tell."

Yawning through parts of it, Harry told the whole story again. This time, when he told about the basilisk and how he had taken control of it, Harry included for his friends the one thing he had not told Snape: his inadvertent claim that he was the Heir of Slytherin.

"I knew it!" Jenna crowed immediately. "I just knew it!"

Pansy and Blaise looked amazed. Draco exchanged a seemingly significant look with Tim. Millie was grinning hugely.

"Only the Heir of Slytherin can open the Chamber of Secrets," she said, correctly citing the legend. "So what happened then?"

"Riddle wasn't fully real yet, so neither I nor Eithne could hurt him. I came up with the idea of letting the diary absorb some basilisk venom, and there was a pretty spectacular light show as Riddle disintegrated. The diary caught fire, Ginny came back to normal, and that's pretty much it."

"We met the basilisk," Tim contributed, "and she didn't kill us."

"That's so _very_ tally. Wish I could've met her," Millie said wistfully.

"You will," Harry promised. "I've got to go back down to look around."

"Surveying your domain?" Jenna teased.

"Something like that," Harry yawned. "Can I sleep now?"

"Take a bath first."

"Harry? Harry, wake up."

As a voice dragged him out of the darkness, Harry gradually realized who its owner was. With a grunt, he rolled onto his back and mumbled a reply.

"G'way, Draco."

"Harry, Percy is here. He wants to thank you."

"So send him in." He pulled his pillow over his head.

"Tim and I have been talking," Draco continued. "Have you realized what's gone on tonight?"

"I saved the school?" His voice was muffled.

"You saved a witch's life. She owes you a debt, and so does Percy."

"Wot?" Harry was waking up despite himself.

"He said to you that if the Heir needed a life that it should be his, right?"

"Something like that."

"If he would give his life for hers, and you saved her, then his life now belongs to you," Tim interjected.

"You're taking the piss."

"Not in the least. Next year's Head Boy is bound by magical law, and his own word, to repay you for Ginny's life. We, and I mean you, should take full, _full_ advantage of it. Harry, next year we could _own_ this school."

Harry was fully awake now, but his brain was still fuzzy. "To what end?"

"To the only end!" Draco answered. "Power!"

"If you had the sworn loyalty of the Head Boy, just imagine: bathing in the prefects' bathroom; he could get us books from the Restricted Section; you could sic him on the other Quidditch teams! The possibilities are endless!"

"Plus there's after he leaves school," Draco added. "Think about the future, Harry. Percy is going to go far in life, with Father's help. He might even be Minister for Magic someday. He's the sort you want to have on your side."

Harry was troubled. He had never even thought about these sorts of things. In the past, he had only fleetingly considered his future beyond Hogwarts. His only certainty was Voldemort, and finally undoing the last of the evil wizard's existence. His friends, on the other hand, had received proper upbringings geared towards taking their places in wizarding society. If Harry wanted to join them - and he did! - he needed to play by those rules.

"So what should I do?" he asked slowly.

"Ceremony," Tim said immediately. "Call him in, tell him to bow down to the Heir of Slytherin, and demand his loyalty. He won't like it much; he's four years older than us, and no prefect wants to acknowledge a younger student as his superior. In the end, though, he'll do it. He's got too much honour in him to refuse."

"And then?"

"Then you wait until you need something from him, something real."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning it would be amusing to be able to order him around like a slave, but pretty pointless," Draco told him. "He's a resource to be exploited prudently. Ronald we could order around for endless fun, but Percy should not be wasted."

Harry turned it over in his mind.

"Ok," he said finally. "Let me get dressed."

He chose his clothes with care, instinctively knowing that he was about to set in motions events that would have severe ramifications. How things would change, Harry didn't know. His hair refused to stay groomed, as usual, but otherwise he looked downright smart - at least as smart as possible in only a few minutes' time. While he dressed, Draco directed Crabbe and Goyle in the rearrangement of the room.

Harry's chair was set in front of the picture window that had such the wonderful view of the night sky and the moon shining down on the rippling lake below. Draco and Tim stood behind him, while Crabbe and Goyle flanked the door. Draco nodded that all was in readiness, and Tim's spell sent a beam of white light to touch the door with a quiet "click".

Percy's head poked in. "Harry? Finally awake?"

"Come in."

The older boy closed the door behind him. "I wanted to say my thanks without my brothers around," he began. "I was wrong about you. Ginny told us about You-Know-Who's diary and how he called himself Tom. She told us you saved her." Percy swallowed, his Adam's apple rising and falling sharply. "I don't know why you would do that for Ginny, but I thank you beyond what my unskilled tongue can express. I'd been forbidden to leave the common room, and Snape set the lads to keep me prisoner. He also took my wand, and even magicked me to make sure I couldn't go wandering. I was madder than an angry hornet, but he told me if I even stepped into the corridor that I'd go twitching with pain, and the anchor spell would keep me from getting five steps. Harry, you did what I would have died to do, and I don't know how I can ever repay you."

"I want your pledge of loyalty."

Percy started. "Excuse me?"

"I want to know that I can call upon you at some point in the future. I'm sure someone as bright as you will wind up in very influential places."

"You want me to owe you a favour?"

"Not just one favour," Draco told him. "Nor any finite number. Fall down on your knees, Percy Weasley. Swear your loyalty to Lord Potter, the Heir of Slytherin."

"The Heir of Slytherin!" Percy gasped. "So it was you that kidnapped my sister!"

"I did _not_!" Harry said in a firm tone. "I killed the one who did, and I am Slytherin's Heir now. I saved Ginny's life."

"He saved Ginny from a horrible fate. Her soul was being devoured, and she would have died in the Chamber were it not for Lord Potter," Draco said. "And so really it should be _her_ standing here," he added. "Which isn't such a bad idea, you know."

"You wanted to give your life for Ginny's. I accept that offer. I have returned her to you, and now you will give me the payment you so freely offered."

"You'd better pledge _your_ life to the will of Lord Potter," Tim advised. "Unless you're prepared to welch on a magical debt. Make your choice."

"Accept your fate and pay your debt," Draco said.

"It's what a real wizard would do."

Percy's face was a study in confusion. He looked back and forth from Tim to Draco and back to Harry, who kept a stern look on his face, mimicking Professor Snape as best he could. Harry could read all the thoughts running through Percy's mind.

"Kneel," he commanded softly.

Percy let out a shuddering breath, bowed his head, and sank to his knees. "I made the deal, and I will keep it. My life is yours."

"You're a good student," Tim said. "Give Lord Potter the oath of used by the Order of Merlin."

"I swear by the magic in my soul and the blood in my veins that I will be faithful to the Lord Potter, to loyally serve his will, and never cause him harm. Let my life be an instrument of his will now and forever. Upon my life, I will observe my homage to him as vassal completely against all persons in good faith and without deceit."

Well _that_ certainly was elaborate. Harry slowly exhaled the breath he'd been holding in. This little ceremony was turning out to be far more intense than he had thought it would. He hadn't been fully prepared to accept this new mantle; he'd only been the Heir of Slytherin for a few hours. He was still only Harry, not this Lord Potter. But he would be, someday.

"Rise." Percy stood. "Tell no one of this."

"I won't."

Harry had had enough of this play-acting. "Keep my secrets. You may go."

Percy bowed his head once more, turned, and exited. When the door had shut behind him, Draco let out a brief laugh.

"Looks like you were right, Tim."

"Of course I was right," Tim retorted. "When are you going to realize that I'm _always_ right?"

After a few more hours of sleep, Harry felt much better. He was actually perky at breakfast as he chowed down on eggs, sausage, and toast. More than anything, he felt awesome relief that he could go to his morning Potions lesson instead of packing his bags to leave. The threat of the Heir of Slytherin had passed, and the second year Slytherin students were very relaxed - a marked change from Harry's recent brooding, which had put them all on edge.

"What's got you lot so cheery?" Miles Bletchley asked over his coffee mug. "I can barely keep my eyes open."

"You should be getting plenty of sleep with Quidditch practices being cancelled," Harry retorted. "I just hope we're ready for Ravenclaw in two weeks."

Bletchley raised an eyebrow. "How did you know that matches are back on? I only heard a few minutes ago from Madam Hooch."

"So that means we have practice today?"

"Yes, it does. Well?"

"Well what?"

"Are you going to answer my question?"

"What question?"

Bletchley snorted. "Just for that, I'm going to work you over today."

"As opposed to any other day?"

"Shut up, Potter."

"That's 'Lord Potter' to him," Jenna whispered in Harry's ear. Harry nearly spit out his juice.

"Girlfriend whispering in your ear, Potter?" Bole teased him from the other side of Bletchley.

Harry snickered, but his response was cut off by Professor McGonagall clearing her throat in front of the High Table.

"Attention everyone! I have a very important announcement." The Great Hall quieted from its dull roar. "Last night, one of our students was kidnapped into the Chamber of Secrets by the Heir of Slytherin."

Gasps arose from all corners as those who hadn't known were shocked to the quick.

"But the Heir made a mistake!" the Deputy Headmistress trumpeted. "And his path to the Chamber was traced. The Heir, and the Beast, were killed. The threat to Hogwarts is lifted!"

Riotous cheering erupted. Months of tension and pressure were released all at once in an explosive display. It was like celebrating a Quidditch match, but for the whole school. Harry joined in, even as he wondered how old McGonagall could lie to them with such a straight face.

"I wonder if Lockhart'll try to say he did it all," Jenna mused.

"Speaking of, where is the great pillock?" Millie wanted to know.

"Maybe his hair wasn't right," Tim suggested.

"While the Mandrakes will not be ready for another few weeks-"

"Three weeks," Professor Sprout interjected.

"-three weeks, we can at least rest easy knowing that the threat is ended."

Cheers came from those Houses of Petrified students.

"Back to normal," Pansy sighed with relief. "Which means classes."

"All of the new security measures are hereby rescinded, and Quidditch practices may resume as normal."

More cheering, louder this time, as Gryffindor and Slytherin joined in.

That day of classes seemed as light-hearted and carefree as the first day back from holiday. Professor Snape even seemed almost cheery as they brewed up some Pest Repellant Potion. Professor Flitwick smiled as he lectured, and his voice was once again chipper. Even Professor McGonagall wasn't nearly as curt with the Slytherins as she usually was. Collectively, the castle breathed one huge sigh of relief.

With the one mystery solved, new mysteries sprouted up to confound the castle. First and foremost was the question of what had happened to Professor Lockhart. Nobody seemed to know where he had gone. Harry didn't care, per se, but it was mighty strange that the man had just up and vanished without an entire parade band playing. He failed to appear for his classes, and Jessica Conejo, the Head Girl, brought the word that his office had been emptied.

Professor Snape called the house together in the common room that night. After returning from dinner, all Slytherins loitered around making small talk while they waited. After only a few minutes, their Head of House came through the wall.

"As you are all now no doubt aware, Professor Lockhart has abandoned us," Snape began dryly. "What you may not know is that last night, when the student was kidnapped into the Chamber of Secrets, Lockhart was charged with saving her. He was given a free rein to end the threat from the Heir of Slytherin, and he chose the path of the chicken-heart, of the frightened field mouse and the scared porlock."

Angry denunciations broke out amongst the Slytherins. Snape waited until they had petered out before continuing.

"So we are left without a Defence teacher. As the school year is nearly over, there is little point to bringing in someone new, so I will be taking over your lessons."

"Prodigious!" Blaise clapped.

"Tally!" Draco cheered.

Scattered applause echoed their sentiments.

"The other Heads of House will be teaching their own students. As you all ought to know by now, I will be no easy taskmaster. Some of you have already come to me in preparation for the O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s given Lockhart's -"

"Incompetence?" Lawrence Derrick, a sixth year, suggested.

"As you will," Snape smiled. "I suggest you catch up on your readings. My evaluations begin tomorrow. Until then, a good night to you all."

As the wall closed behind him, the Slytherin students were already complaining good-naturedly about Professor Snape's evaluations. Nobody really meant it though; every comment was accompanied by a broad smile. Everyone knew that Snape had long coveted the Defence position. Even if he were only teaching his own, perhaps it would reflect well on him and he could get the job next year.

He deserved it too, Harry thought the next day as he and his friends walked away from the classroom in amazement. Harry hadn't learned so much since the Christmas holiday with Tim's father. Even if Snape had made good on his promise to be a strict taskmaster, it was better than being lied to every lesson by Lockhart.

Snape's famous questions continued in Defence. Harry often felt like he was on some Muggle contest programme on the telly. _If I were,_ Harry thought with pride, _I'd be in the lead._ Tim had been keeping score of his own points, so of course Pansy had had to do better. The Slytherins being who they were, they had all soon joined in. Currently Harry had the most, but Tim and Blaise were very close behind; Draco and Pansy were neck and neck as well, with Crabbe, Millie, Goyle, and Jenna holding their own.

Sometimes it felt like his head was spinning with all hexes, curses, and jinxes they were learning. There were three important characteristics of a spell, according to Professor Snape: You must possess the words; You must know the effects; You must have the counter. He drilled the words into them like a mantra.

Harry's respect for his Head grew enormously. He'd been told his first night at Hogwarts, by Elan Malfoy, that Snape knew a _lot_ about the Dark Arts. That statement had obviously been impressed upon the elder Malfoy brother at some point in his schooling; now Harry saw the proof of it with his own eyes.

They were seeing Professor Snape more than just in class now. He seemed to have set up shop in the Slytherin common room, sitting at a table in the far corner, always with his head bowed and quill scratching away. He wasn't brewing, though, so it was safe to interrupt him. The man seemed determined to make sure they got the full year's learning they were entitled to.

Professor Snape came around several weeks later with the forms for the new classes. They had to pick two new subjects out of a list of five choices, but one of those subjects was Muggle Studies. Harry had absolutely no desire to study Muggles; he had seen more than enough first-hand. Care of Magical Creatures _sounded_ interesting, but Professor Kettleburn did not have a reputation for safety. Divination didn't sound too bad either, but Sam Palce, the sixth year prefect, cautioned him about looking too much towards the future.

"The future is always in motion," he said sagely. "I think it's more important to focus on the here and now. Make improvements and take action in order to bring about the future you want to have."

Harry's choices had been effectively made for him, but he didn't mind. Draco had signed up for Arithmancy and Ancient Runes without any hesitation at all. Tim, Pansy, Blaise, and Jenna likewise opted for "Double A's", as Slytherin House called the two challenging classes. Harry would be in good company.

Which was not to say that the other classes would have a lack of Slytherins. Crabbe, Goyle, and Millie all signed up for Care of Magical Creatures. Each was also taking one of the "A's" (Ancient Runes for Goyle, Arithmancy for Crabbe and Millie).

Jenna had been very insistent that she would not sit up in the Divination Tower by herself. The funny girl was taking a third class, and she teased Crabbe and Goyle into putting their names down as well. Harry thought it quite ambitious of the trio.

Harry sought out the opinions of all his prefects, even though he'd already chosen his subjects. It seemed a smart idea to sound out the general feeling about what was good and what was to be avoided. He made an effort to act normal with Percy, as though the incident in the second years' room hadn't happened. Percy was quiet but thoughtful, and his advice for Harry to stick to Double A's was persuasive.

Somehow, relative normality had come back to Hogwarts. Hagrid reappeared at the High Table in mid-May. The appropriate paperwork must have eventually made its way through the Ministry bureaucracy. His face was a bit paler, Harry noticed, and his hands trembled whenever he lifted his big goblet. Maybe it was the enforced absence of drink. Otherwise he seemed none the worse for wear after his bid in Azkaban.

Since the Chamber of Secrets had been closed, the terror of the past year had begun to fade in the minds of the students. Easy laughter could now be heard in most corners of the castle, chasing away the shadows of fear. With the Mandrakes harvested, chopped, and stewed, the petrified Muggleborns had been returned to normal with Professor Snape's Restorative Draught. Each one confirmed for the school that the legendary Beast had indeed been a basilisk; each was greatly relieved to learn of its demise.

Only Hufflepuff House didn't seem the same. That was only reasonable, considering that they'd actually lost a member to the Heir's purge. The second years still wept at the drop of a hat, and the prefects didn't smile anymore. The house's relations with Slytherin House, never the best, deteriorated further.

Harry personally didn't care. He wasn't friendly with any Hufflepuffs, and he'd had far worse disrespect from certain Gryffindors. Their attitude was irritating, especially considering who the true culprit had been, but he kept his mouth shut. Speaking out would only draw attention to himself. He didn't feel like talking about it in any case.

Neither he nor his friends discussed the momentous events of the year. Exams were only a short time away, and most conversation was oriented around school work. Their routine consisted of nothing but studying. Harry even stopped reading his morning paper until Tim shared the story about Lockhart's disappearance from Hogwarts. School Governor Lucius Malfoy had been quoted with some very harsh things to say about suspended Headmaster Albus Dumbledore and his hiring practices.

But even the unanswered question of the Headmaster position could not much interest the Slytherins, or the rest of the school for that matter. Though there had been wide-spread jubilation for the end of the threatening times, the students were very worn out from the constant stress of the year. All anyone wanted to do, it seemed, was finish up the year, go home, and take a holiday in some tropical country. Harry was waxing wisftful about an island, actually, when Percy pulled him aside for a private conversation.

"Harry, I've got a favour to ask of you."

The last time Percy asked a favour, he had wound up with far more than he bargained for. What might Harry get out of him this time?

"So ask."

"It's Ginny," Percy confessed. "She's not been doing well. We know now why she's been acting very strange all year. The whole of Gryffindor House knows she was abducted, though we've kept the truth of things under wraps as much as possible. What few friends she managed to make in the beginning of the year were pushed away by Christmas. She came to me crying yesterday that they flat-out told her they think she's weird and want nothing to do with her. She's only a first year; she's got to live with these people for the next six years."

"What's this got to do with me?"

"Could you maybe be friends with her?" Percy asked. "Nobody else could possibly understand what she's been through, and I'm worried for her."

So Ginny Weasley had become an outcast. Harry felt a wrench of sympathy. He'd been an outcast once before and knew it wasn't fun. House meant family at Hogwarts, but what happened when the house rejected you?

"What about your brothers?" Harry wanted to know. "Don't they care?"

Percy made a rude noise. "Those jokesters just told her to chin up. They've been tormenting her with hissing noises and snake jokes. Ron is too upset that _you_ saved her to even think about how she feels. I've only got a year left, and what happens when I'm gone?"

"Everyone needs friends," Harry agreed. "If she's willing to be seen with us awful Slytherins, I'll let her hang around."

Percy bowed his head. "Thank you. And thank you for her, too."

Ginny wasted no time in seeking out Harry's company. The red-haired girl joined the second year Slytherins at dinner that very night. With an admirable sort of directness, she held her chin high as she walked straight to the Slytherin table, not even glancing towards her house.

"Look what we have here," Pansy smirked. "A lost Gryffindor."

"Not lost, Parkinson," Ginny replied coolly, "just adventurous."

Tim snickered as blood coloured Pansy's face. "She's witty."

"Witty enough," Ginny retorted. "For you. Potter, I'd like to join your little group here."

"Are you brave enough to sit with Slytherins, little Weasley?" Jenna asked with a touch of a lilt.

"You haven't managed to kill my brother yet. Old Percy seems fairly happy to boot."

"You know, don't you, that once you go green, you have to get mean?" Tim asked pointedly. "We're a rough crowd."

"I grew up with six brothers, Nott. It doesn't get much rougher than that."

"Why do you want to join us?" Draco inquired. If anyone would have objection to this, he would.

"Because I don't think you'll judge me," Ginny said bluntly. "Those tossers who are supposed to be my friends think there's something wrong with me."

"And they'd be right," Harry noted pertinently. "You're a Gryffindor who wants to be friends with Slytherins."

"So?"

"So nothing," Harry grinned. "I think it's smashing good fun. Have a seat."

Relief broke over Ginny's face. Her freckles rearranged themselves across her nose as she smiled. "Thank you. I really didn't want to have to walk back over there."

"Particularly not after the gratuitous snubbing you gave your house tonight," Blaise noted. "Ronald looks fit to be tied."

"Now there's an idea," Ginny giggled.

"I have a proposition," Jenna announced. "What say you all to a moratorium on adopting Weasleys?"

to be continued...


	21. Privet Drive

**They Shook Hands : Year Two**

An alternate (but realistic!) universe Harry Potter fic  
by Dethryl

**Chapter Twenty-one - Privet Drive**

Exams came and went without any excitement. When he had handed in his parchments to Professor Flitwick, Harry checked his schedule only to find that he had nothing left to sit. He gleefully crossed out Charms from his list, wiped off his quill and tucked it away, crumpled the parchment into a ball, and pitched it in the bin on his way out of the classroom.

"About time," Blaise teased him good-naturedly. Harry had been the last of his gang to finish the exam. Everyone was waiting for him out in the corridor.

"Not everyone's as clever as you, Blaise," Harry retorted, sticking out his tongue. Blaise had walked out first from nearly every exam.

"What took so long?" Draco asked. "I thought you were good at Charms."

"I am. I wrote loads about everything."

"Nuts," Goyle spoke up. "Just say what you need to and be done with it. Why make the prof read through pages of blather?"

"Yeah," Crabbe added. "I'm sure the teachers want to eat lunch at some point. Me too, actually. What do you think, Draco; could we get some food?"

"Are you hungry _again_? Breakfast was only a few hours ago."

"I'm a growing boy."

"Somebody put a brick on his head," Jenna giggled.

"He's not the only one who's hungry," Harry chimed in.

"Lunch isn't for another hour," Tim reported, checking his watch. "The plates won't be there."

"Maybe we can get the food to appear anyway," Pansy suggested. "With exams and all, students are coming and going at odd times. I think it might just work."

This seemed a most reasonable idea, and the gang of Slytherins trumped down the stairs and seated themselves at their table in the Hall. The food didn't immediately appear, so Tim and Draco fell to discussing how incredibly easy the Astronomy exam had been, while the others watched Harry whump Jenna in a game of Gobstones.

Before too much longer, their new tagalong showed up and put her bag down on the table as well. She unknotted the red and gold tie from around her neck and stuffed it deep into the knapsack with obvious disgust. Ginny had already lost twenty points for Gryffindor through her refusal to wear the thing; the threat of detention had finally induced her to keep it on during classes, but she took every other opportunity to go bare-necked. So far, the rogue Gryffindor's appeals to join Slytherin House had been refused by Professor McGonagall, her current Head of House.

The bell sounded the start of lunch, and food instantly began appearing on the table in front of the waiting Slytherins. They were the only people in the Hall, actually, until the side door opened to admit several of the professors.

"I don't believe it," Draco marvelled. "Tim, what could _he_ be doing back here?"

An unpleasant scowl came over Tim's face. "Dumbledore the Muggle Lover," he sneered. "Wasn't he sacked?"

"He was," Draco agreed. "And now I'm confused."

"Ah, some of our young Slytherin students," the old wizard said with a smile as he sauntered over.

"Professor," about half of them said, with varying degrees of pleasure.

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow as his gaze fell upon their Gryffindor tagalong. "Miss Weasley, I'm surprised to find you sitting here."

Ginny glanced up without much interest on her face. "You can thank those stupid, judgemental chickenhearts who kicked me out of my house," she said with disdain. "They didn't like me just because I was different."

"I'm sure you're exaggerating," Dumbledore remanded her. "House is like family."

"My 'family' sucks," she scorned.

"Well, it's nice to see that you've made some friends. I wish more students weren't afraid to cross house lines."

"I don't understand, sir," Draco said with an artfully confused expression. "Weren't you sacked?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "Oh no, Mister Malfoy. The board of governors only suspended my tenure pending an inquiry. That inquiry is now concluded, and I'm happy to say they found no evidence of negligence on my part."

"That's - good news, sir," Tim finally said.

"What about hiring that imbecile Lockhart?" Draco asked snottily. "How was that not negligent?"

"Gilderoy Lockhart fooled everyone, Mister Malfoy, not just me. He played a dangerous game of deception, and unfortunately we were the ones who got the short end of the stick when he was exposed."

"My father pays good money for my education," Pansy told the Headmaster. "He's very upset about this Lockhart business."

"You may tell your father that the next Defence professor we hire will be subjected to a rigorous test," Dumbledore answered with a firm nod.

"And what's to happen to Lockhart?" Harry asked. "His incompetence put us all in danger."

Professor Dumbledore's face grew harder. "When he is found," he said, "he will be brought before the Wizengamot to answer for his crimes."

This seemed to satisfy Harry's friends, and Dumbledore took that opportunity to take his leave. The Slytherins continued with their lunch, arguing over what messy fate awaited Lockhart. Tim was all in favour of a bid in Azkaban, while Draco wanted the fraud's wand snapped to bits and shoved in his ears.

Harry didn't really care, so long as the nitwit was punished, and painfully. He took a bit of his sandwich and flipped open his morning _Prophet_. With exams, he hadn't been able to read it at breakfast.

**HARRY POTTER ACT PASSES!**

Harry nearly spit out his pumpkin juice. "Oi, lads! Get a load of this!

"Minister for Magic Cornelius Fudge yesterday signed into law the Harry Potter Magical Child Protection Act. The Act provides for the removal of any Muggleborn child from its family and placing that child with an adoptive magical family. Any family that accepts one of these magical children will receive a substantial tax benefit.

"The Act is not retroactive. Only children born as of the first of June will be affected. Adoption records will be sealed by the Ministry, and the adoptive family will choose the child's name.

"Lucius Malfoy, 38, of Wiltshire, primary sponsor of the Act, applauded its passage. 'With this Act, no magical child will need to live in fear of mistreatment at the hands of Muggles who could never understand him. I commend the Ministry for finally passing this most sensible legislation. The Ministry must act to protect children."

"That's excellent," Pansy grinned. "Nice to see the Ministry acting right."

"Are you going to volunteer to take one of these babies?" Jenna snickered.

"We just might," Pansy replied. "I've always wanted a baby sister."

"Adopt me?" Ginny asked hopefully.

The usual decorations were missing from the Great Hall when Harry and his friends entered it for the Leaving Feast. The Hall was normally decorated with the colours of the House that had earned the most points during the school year and won the House Cup. That honour once again belonged to Slytherin, but instead of the green and silver bunting and the great serpent banner hung behind the High Table, the walls were draped in black.

Professor Dumbledore was back in his customary seat, sipping a glass of water as he chatted quietly with Professor McGonagall. He stood up a few moments later when the last students had taken their seats.

"The end," he said solemnly, "of another year."

He paused, and his eyes fell upon the Hufflepuff table. Theirs had been the most subdued table before he had gotten to his feet, and theirs were still the saddest and palest faces in the Hall.

"There is much I would like to say to you tonight, but I must first acknowledge the loss of a very fine person who should be sitting here enjoying our feast with us." He gestured to the Hufflepuff table. "I would like you all, please, to stand and raise your glasses to Hermione Granger."

Most of the Hall stood. Harry hadn't liked the girl, and he gave serious thought to staying in his seat, but a sharp look from Professor Snape encouraged them all to rise.

"Hermione was a person who exemplified many of the qualities of Hufflepuff House. She was a good and loyal friend, a hard worker, and a cheerful spirit. She was a bright girl, first in her classes. We are all made less by her absence."

And everyone drank the toast.

"Hermione was killed, as many of you know, by the Beast of Slytherin, the monster of the Chamber of Secrets, a great basilisk. There is little defence against the king of serpents, and indeed we are fortunate that poor Hermione was the only student lost.

"We can all live without fear now," Dumbledore continued. "The Beast of the Chamber has been slain, and the Chamber of Secrets sealed forever."

_Shows what he knows_, Harry thought, as widespread applause burst out.

"It has been a trying year on all of us. I hope you will all have a nice leisurely holiday to unwind. Certainly we professors could use the rest," Dumbledore joked with a bit of a twinkle in his eyes. "But before we get to that, we must recognize the winners of the House Cup. Congratulations to Slytherin, with five hundred sixty points."

The House Cup looked very nice, all shiny silver, sitting at the head of the table next to the Quidditch Cup. Slytherin had beaten Ravenclaw in their match. Gryffindor's win over Hufflepuff had not been enough to take the Cup, and Slytherin's colours decorated it once again.

"It's almost too easy," Harry observed.

"Quidditch or the House Cup?" Ginny asked.

"Both!" the gang chorused.

The next day, the Slytherins were up bright and early to pack their trunks and be off in the horseless carriages down to Hogsmeade station to catch the train. Harry couldn't help but feel sad at leaving the old castle for another long holiday. The school was truly the only place he felt qualified as a proper home for him. Had he the choice, he would stay at Hogwarts the year round.

Harry did his best not to think about what would happen when they arrived in London. No other arrangements had been made and no permission given, so Harry was positive that he would be stuck going to the Dursleys again. He would have to remedy that situation - soon.

All he really wanted from them was the letter that Dumbledore had given them so long ago, explaining who Harry was and how his parents had died. It was one clue he had to his past, and Harry wanted it. Once he had it, well, they wouldn't be pushing him around this summer!

Too soon the train was pulling into the station. There was a big jumble and fuss as students picked up trunks and pets and exited the train in a disorganized mob. All around him were parents hugging and kissing their children and joyous smiles and laughter.

"Draco!"

"Father!" Draco pushed through the crowd to where his father and mother stood waiting. Mr. Malfoy, looking as distinguished as always, shook Harry's hand.

"Harry, you look taller," he said by way of greeting.

"He's a growing boy," Draco's mother gushed, bending down to wrap her arms around him. "You'll grow even more this summer if I can get you to the manor and feed you properly."

"Those Muggles had better not starve you," Draco said heatedly. "I'll send Elan to terrorize them again."

"That won't be necessary, Draco," Mr. Malfoy smiled. "I've got a few choice words for these - _Dursleys_." The name sounded downright dirty the way he said it.

"Where are they?" Harry asked rhetorically. "Not that I want to see them, but-"

"How dare they make you wait?" Draco chimed in. "As if they were more important."

"They don't know who I am," Harry pointed out. "And they wouldn't care if they did."

"They ought to care."

Harry couldn't see the Muggles approaching yet. Just as well; he could spend a few more minutes with his own kind.

"We'll be going back to the manor to deposit your things, Draco," Mr. Malfoy was saying. "From there, we'll be off to the IFloo to meet your brother."

Elan Malfoy was getting home from his first year at Durmstrang Academy. Greeting him would be a much better way to spend the afternoon than going back to Privet Drive. Harry kicked at an unoffending pillar with impotent frustration. It just wasn't fair; the law named for him took all Muggleborns away, but he was stuck going back to Privet Drive.

Time slowly passed. The platform rapidly grew empty as students and their families departed. Muggle trains boarded and departed. Mr. Malfoy continually glanced at his watch and, at half past the hour, finally cleared his throat.

"Harry, we really must be going."

Harry, who had been growing angrier by the minute, nodded his head. "I understand, sir. Please tell Elan I said hello."

"When you get this business with the Muggles straightened out, please come visit us. Our home is always open to you."

"I know. Thank you, Mrs. Malfoy."

"I wanted to see Father scare those Dursleys something good," Draco said regretfully. "Don't let them get away with these shenanigans."

"I won't," Harry promised.

"Harry, be well."

"Thank you, sir."

Draco offered his hand; Harry shook it. The Malfoy family left the platform, and Harry was alone.

A train boarded at Platform 9 and departed. The hour came and went. Several times, a passing guard asked if everything was well. Finally, Harry had to admit the reality of his situation.

"They're not coming," he said incredulously. _Of all the cheek._

Harry pushed aside his outrage, for now. He obviously couldn't stay on the platform all day. What was he to do? With a grim expression on his face, he picked up Regal's cage, grabbed the handle on his trunk, and walked out to the street.

Muggle London was a noisy place, he realized. He hurried down the street to Puddlemucker's Sweet Shoppe. His luck was holding, because the door was still open.

"Good afternoon, young master," the proprietor greeted him. "We weren't expecting any more today."

"Change in plans," Harry said. "I need to get to Diagon Alley."

"Certainly, young sir. That will be one Galleon for the powder and the service."

Harry handed him the gold coin and received his Floo powder. He tossed it into the roaring flame. When they turned emerald green, he stepped into the fireplace. Holding tight to his trunk and his owl, he called out, "Diagon Alley!"

When the spinning stopped, Harry opened his eyes. Amazingly enough, he didn't have the urge to empty his stomach onto the floor. Though a bit dizzy, he was able to walk unaided. Ignoring Old Tom the barkeep, he made his way to the back alley. Drawing his wand, he tapped on the three bricks and marvelled as the wall opened up to admit him to Diagon Alley.

It was just coming up on early evening, and business was booming. Harry pushed past the potions supply, Madam Malkin's, the cauldron store, and even past Quality Quidditch Supplies. He wrestled his trunk up the steps to Gringotts and took his place in the queue.

The wait wasn't long, and Harry peered over the counter where a goblin named Snagglefang smiled horribly at him.

"I'd like to change for Muggle money," Harry said.

"Exchange rate is one Galleon to five pounds," the goblin told him in a squeaky voice. "Minus a one pound exchange fee."

"What?" That was almost extortion, but Harry needed the money. "All right," he grumbled. "Give it to me." He pulled out his money pouch and laid his Galleons on the counter. Sweeping up the paper bills the goblin laid down, he counted them carefully. It was all there; they weren't trying to cheat him twice.

His business concluded, Harry left the bank, still smarting about the exchange rate. Regretfully, he passed Quality Quidditch Supplies again. He just didn't have the time; he had Muggles to deal with.

Harry made his way out through the Leaky Cauldron and back into the streets of Muggle London. It was still noisy, still dirty. He wheeled his trunk down the lane and to the entrance to the Underground. London Bridge station was where he could catch the train he needed, and he took a fast ride on the Tube to get there.

"One ticket to Surrey, please," he requested of the ticket agent.

Ignoring everyone who was gawking at Regal, Harry passed the time by working out what he planned to say to the Muggles. The past two years of observing Professor Snape, and even moreso Professor McGonagall, had given him very stern lessons in attitude, and Harry intended to put the Dursleys in their place.

Uncle Vernon's company car was in the driveway when Harry finally got his trunk down to Privet Drive. He was very tired from all the pushing and pulling; he was sweaty and dirty. Thank Merlin that Mr. Malfoy had added wheels to the thing, or Harry never would have made it this far.

The front door was unlocked, so Harry just strolled right in. Three very surprised Muggles waited for him in the sitting room.

"Oh, it's _you_," Dudley said with loathing.

"Thanks for the ride from the station," Harry said sarcastically to his uncle.

"I sent a letter that we would be unable to be there," the fat man shot back.

"Why?"

"None of your concern!"

Probably for no good reason. It really didn't matter.

"I only came back for one thing," Harry declared. "Do you still have the letter that the old man left with me on the doorstep? I want it."

Uncle Vernon looked askance at Aunt Petunia. "Petunia? Did I burn that load of rubbish?"

Harry's mother's sister shook her head. "It's in the attic."

"I want it, and anything else having to do with my mum and dad."

"There was nothing else," Aunt Petunia told him. She left the room and ascended the staircase.

Harry didn't fill the air with empty conversation. He kept his best glare riveted on Dudley, who was trying his best to avoid eye contact. After some time, Aunt Petunia came back down the stairs and handed Harry an envelope.

"Now then," he said, "I'm tired, sweaty, and dirty. I'm going to bathe, get some sleep, and then I'm leaving. Leave me alone, and I won't turn you all into frogs."

Somehow he summoned up the strength to haul his trunk up the short flight of stairs. He pulled it right into the bathroom as he locked the door behind him. Though they feared magic, he didn't want to risk the Dursleys going through his stuff.

Nominally safe, Harry luxuriated under the hot shower spray as he washed the filth and grime from his body. He kept the shower curtain partially open, just so he could see if they tried to open the door.

"Miserable Muggles," he ranted, as the suds washed down the drain.

Harry couldn't leave yet; his knees shook just thinking about it. He needed to get some sleep before he did anything else. He towelled off, put on his pyjamas, and dragged his trunk into what had been Dudley's second bedroom.

Yawning so hard he felt his jaw crack, Harry made sure his wand was on the bedside table in case he needed to defend himself in the middle of the night.

"One night," he said to himself. "That's all it is. I'm going to Wiltshire in the morning."

Regal hooted softly at him, and Harry lay down. Almost instantly it seemed as though he were staring up at the morning sun. It was strangely pretty as it streamed through his barred window and shone on his ceiling. Harry sat up and felt his entire body protest. With some effort, he got to his feet and shuffled off to brush his teeth.

The door wouldn't open. Harry turned the knob and pulled, but the door refused to budge. He yanked and tugged at it, but it merely rattled in its casing.

The Muggles! Harry pounded on the door with his fist. "Let me out of here! You have no right to keep me locked up! I'm going to make you pay for this!

Finé


	22. Missing Scenes

**They Shook Hands : Year Two**

An alternate (but realistic!) universe Harry Potter fic  
by Dethryl

**Chapter Beta - Missing Scenes from Year Two**

"Elan?" Draco asked, knocking on his brother's door. "Can I talk to you for a minute?"

"Sure," came the reply from within. "The door is open."

Elan appeared hard at work on his summer assignments, but he laid down his quill immediately to give Draco his full attention.

"I'm worried about Harry," the younger Malfoy brother stated. "He hasn't written me back all summer. I've invited him up to play Quidditch three times now, but he won't respond."

"Won't?" Elan asked shrewdly. "Or can't?"

"Can't?" Draco felt a sudden stab of alarm. "What do you mean?"

"Use your brain," Elan told him. "Harry lives with Muggles, right?"

"Right. So?"

"So, maybe they won't let him write back. He's always saying how much they hate him, and his magic. They might have taken Regal away from him so he wouldn't be able to send any letters. They might have broken his hand so he couldn't write at all."

"What?" Draco couldn't fathom it.

"Muggles are cruel, Draco. They inflict pain wantonly and needlessly."

"They'd better not be mistreating him," Draco growled. "Elan, we've got to make sure."

"Go talk to Father. He can look into it more easily than we can."

"But that will take time! I'm _really_ worried now. Harry might not have that time!"

"So what would you have us do?"

"Let's take a flight to Surrey tonight. We'll drop in on Privet Drive, scare the Muggles a bit, whisk Harry away to the Manor, and live happily ever after."

"I wouldn't mind a bit of fun," Elan admitted. "But flying all the way to Surrey just for a lark seems a bit excessive."

"Elan, don't you care about Harry at all? He might be locked back up in that awful cupboard under the stairs for all we know, and all you want to do is write essays!"

"That's not fair!"

"Then let's _go_!" Draco urged.

Elan stood up. "You're right. Harry could be in trouble. As his friends and fellow Slytherins, it is our obligation to make sure of his well-being. Go put on a black robe. I've got to gather several things."

"Dursley, what the bloody hell is going on here?" Mr. Mason thundered. "Who was that boy? Why are masked fellows showing up at your door? Are you involved with some sort of cult?"

Vernon Dursley was not having a good night. He'd been entertaining the Masons, hoping to secure a large order of drills from the very rich builder, and he'd been right in the middle of his hilariously funny Japanese golfer joke when - he felt the vein in his forehead start to throb - that _boy_!

It truly wasn't Harry Potter's fault, you must understand. He hadn't asked the masked wizard to come rescue him, hadn't asked him to scare the dickens out of the Dursleys either, but Vernon was too narrow-minded to tell the difference.

Though he'd taken every precaution to keep the freakish boy from contacting his freakish friends, obviously he hadn't been careful enough. The boy had called, his friends had answered, and now there was no end of trouble.

"My nephew," he answered Mr. Mason with a wheeze. "He's very disturbed. Meeting strangers upsets him, which is why we kept him upstairs.

"Who was that masked man?"

"I don't know," Vernon gasped, trying to get his breathing under control. "The boy's a degenerate!"

"Damn it, get ahold of yourself, man! This is a kidnapping, don't you see? You must call the police immediately!"

"No!" Petunia was recovering her composure after being scared out of her wits by the masked wizard. "No police!"

Mr. Mason may have been old, but he was no fool. "There's something funny going on here," he declared. "Mark my words, Dursley, I'll never buy a Grunnings drill - ever! Come, darling, we'll be leaving now."

"No one will be going anywhere quite yet," said a mild-looking man with brown hair. Where he had come from, Vernon didn't know, but he was blocking the doorway now. The vein throbbed even harder; the man was wearing dark blue _robes_ and had a _wooden stick_ in his hand.

"Who the devil are you?" Mr. Mason asked in an astonished voice.

"Nobody in particular. I must ask that you take a seat."

"I'll do no such thing," Mr. Mason declared. "Out of my way, sir."

The wizard, for by now Vernon had determined he was a wizard, raised his wooden stick. "I'm very sorry to have to do this, but _Obliviate!_"

"Ah, Lucius, do come in, do come in." Minister for Magic Cornelius Fudge was sweating, though the climate in the Ministry was magically controlled.

"Cornelius, a pleasure as always." It was never a pleasure to deal with the snivelling little worm, but the man _was_ Minister. Lucius did respect the office, if not the wizard who filled the post at the moment.

"Strange you should call at this moment. I've just been discussing your son."

"With whom?"

"With me, Lucius."

"Dumbledore." This was not good. The Headmaster of Hogwarts was discussing Elan with the Minister? "What brings you to the Ministry?"

"Elan is in quite a bit of trouble, Lucius. It's a high crime to impersonate a Death Eater."

Lucius fought down a flare of anger. "My son is no Death Eater, Dumbledore. He is a hero who helped to rescue a fellow wizard from abuse and mistreatment at the hands of Muggles. A mistreatment, I might add, that _you_ proscribed for the Boy Who Lived."

"There are very important reasons why Harry lives with his aunt and uncle, Lucius, reasons that don't concern you. We are here to talk about why Elan should not be dragged before the Wizengamot."

"You wouldn't _dare_!"

"I have a witness who will testify that Elan was dressed in Death Eater garb on the night he kidnapped Harry. Black robes and a blank white mask are what the Death Eaters wore, if memory serves me."

"If wearing black robes is a crime now, then I guess we had best arrest the entire student body," Lucius spat with fury. "Bring forth your witness! I will interrogate him and learn the truth of the matter."

"Gentlemen, please!" Fudge cried out. "I'm sure we can resolve this without such drastic measures. Dumbledore, I will not bring charges on the word of one witness. Lucius, it's the kidnapping that concerns me. Like it or not, these Dursleys are Harry Potter's legal guardians, and he was forcibly taken from his residence."

Lucius took a breath. God, how he hated that old man. _Soft, namby-pamby Muggle-lover. If you weren't so bleeding powerful, I'd tear you limb from limb and hang your carcass on a Tree of Woe._

"Quite correct, Cornelius," Dumbledore agreed. "The facts are self-evident. I will not tolerate criminal behaviour at Hogwarts, and Elan is hereby expelled."

"You dare-!" Lucius choked. The Headmaster had that power, damn him to the lowest realm of the underworld. A Malfoy expelled from Hogwarts! He very much wanted to kill something.

"Is that necessary, Dumbledore?" Fudge asked.

"I believe it is."

"Lucius, I find it to be a suitable punishment. If you send Elan abroad for his last two years of school, get him out of the country, then I'll let the matter drop. Does that sound fair?"

Lucius ground his teeth. It was about as fair as he was likely to get. "I must accept," he said coldly.

"Good!" Fudge exclaimed, mopping at his forehead. "Then it's all settled."

"Thank you for your time, Cornelius." Dumbledore stood up and placed his tea cup on the silver service. "Lucius, good day."

Lucius ushered his guest to the finest chair. After ensuring that the wizard did not require a footstool, cushion, snack, or drink, he finally took his own seat behind his desk.

"Avery, old friend, I have a plan to purge Hogwarts of the unworthy."

"Indeed?" he asked, eyes glittering.

"Our departed master was a wizard of great magical gifts. He created a diary, encapsulating his essence at a younger age. This diary is capable of bringing him back."

The other wizard sat up straight. "How?"

"It absorbs the lifeforce of the person who writes in it and will drain his soul dry. It will takes months of writing to reach that point, but until that finally happens, our master will be capable of influencing the writer. As he did once before, he will be able to open the Chamber of Secrets and release the Beast within."

"The Chamber of Secrets!"

"Yes," Lucius drew the word out. "Muggleborn students will be hunted down and exterminated, and our master will be reborn."

Avery folded his hands. "You realize what you are proposing? He will be returned, and we will be under his heel again."

Lucius smiled. "I've thought of that. He won't know us. He will be young. He will need us to advise him. We can influence him. We can control him. He will be as he was before the madness took him. He will lead us properly, and we can claim back our world."

"And you are quite certain that pureblooded students will be safe from the beast?"

"Our own precious babes shall be as secure as in their mothers' arms. Only inferior ones need fear the danger."

Avery smiled wickedly. "Grave danger?"

"Is there any other kind?"

Draco knocked on the door of his father's private study. He was never allowed inside unless Father was with him. There were many things inside that could be dangerous unless handled in precisely the proper manner. Elan still told the tale of the Solomon's Ring he'd nearly lost fingers to many years ago.

"Father? May I come in?"

"Enter," came Father's voice through the wood.

"Are you busy?"

"Nothing that can't wait," Father declared, moving a stack of parchment to one side. "What is on your mind?"

Draco took two quick steps around the desk and wrapped his arms around his father. "I'm so sorry," he apologized. "I muffed things up, and I put the family at risk. I never meant for that to happen. I just wanted to help my friend."

Father squeezed him tightly. "I know, son. Such devotion speaks highly of your character. Everything will work out, I promise. Malfoys always survive."

"I love you, Father."

"I love you too, Draco."

As the sickening spin of Floo travel began to slow, Elan felt a stab of apprehension in his gut. Up until now, this talk of Durmstrang had been so abstract. He'd barely been able to believe it was real and not some horrible nightmare. Now he was on the final leg of his trip, and reality was starting to sink in.

He stepped out of the fireplace and pulled his trunk to the side. Father would be right behind him, that he knew. Elan ground his teeth in frustration. Bad enough to be packed off to another country and a strange school, but to be personally escorted by his father was just too embarassing. It was certainly not how he wanted to make his first impression on his new classmates.

"Lucius!" A wizard with sleek, silvered hair stood there to greet them. He was tall and thin, and his goatee finished with a flourishing curl. His smile revealed yellow teeth, and his eyes were shrewd. His voice was rather unctuous.

"Karkaroff, my old friend!"

Durmstrang's Headmaster turned his attention to Elan. "You must be Elan. Your father has told me so much about you."

There was never a good reply to that statement. He inclined his head. "Professor Karkaroff, it's a pleasure to be here."

"Yes, of course."

"Karkaroff, I want you to keep a close eye on my eldest here. He's got a fine penchant for getting into mischief at times. And also, while he's here, I want him to improve his language skills."

"That is no problem, Lucius. All lessons are conducted in High German, and the homework the same. Elan, you are forbidden from using a Translation Charm. Sprechen Sie Deutsches?"

"Ja, mein Lehrer."

The Headmaster raised an eyebrow. "This is good. Perhaps you will not have such a difficult time as all that."

"Karkaroff, before I go, I must speak with you privately."

As the two older men walked away, conversing in low tones, Elan became aware that he was being studied by several of the students. One of the boys, flanked by two of his friends, walked right up to him, his jaw thrust out pugnaciously.

"Ich werde Pietro von Schlieffen angerufen. Wer sind Sie?"

"Ich werde Elan Octavio von Malfoy angerufen. Mein Vater ist Lucius von Malfoy, und er ist gute Freunde mit dem Rektor."

"Your accent is horrible," Pietro told him, switching to English.

"Maybe you could help me with that," Elan said cooly. "You seem a decent fellow."

Pietro laughed sharply. "You're very perceptive. For an Englishman. Come, I'll show you around the castle."

"Ah, Mister Malfoy, do come in. Sit down. Can I get you anything?"

"No, Mister Conner, I am quite comfortable. Thank you."

"What may I do for you this afternoon?"

"I have come to ask for your support on a bit of legislation I plan on placing before the Wizengamot. You are aware that Harry Potter has been abused and neglected by his Muggle guardians?"

"Monstrous," Mr. Conner declared. "It was a horrid mistake to exile him."

"It was Dumbledore who did that," Lucius said with a tightening of his lips. "My bill would make it illegal for any witch or wizard to be raised by Muggles."

"Any?" Conner asked shrewdly. "What about the Muggleborns?"

"Them as well," Lucius replied without missing a beat. "Once identified, any Muggleborn child will be relocated to a proper magical family."

"That's very bold, Lucius."

"Bold action is needed to protect the children. Harry was mistreated for ten years, and nobody knew about it. What else don't we know?"

"Muggles torturing wizards gets my Irish up," Conner admitted. "I don't really support the other view, though. Taking their kids away would probably break a lot of those Muggles."

"So that they will not suffer in abundance, the Muggles will be Memory Charmed to believe that there were complications during birth. Perhaps there will be a slight increase in the numbers of sudden infant deaths. But the children will be brought up with magic, so they will not pose a threat to the Statute of Secrecy."

"I wish the Muggles weren't so primitive!" Conner complained. "It's their barbarism that really makes these sorts of laws necessary. It's not right, you know."

Lucius concealed a smile. He had his answer. "It's for the greater good of our world, Mister Conner. We will protect the children, keep ourselves even more secret from the Muggles, and preserve our culture and heritage. I thank you for your support."

"Ah, Dumbledore, do come in. Please sit down. May i get you anything?"

"Thank you, but no, Mister Conner. Thank you for seeing me."

"One does not turn away the Chief Mugwump without at least hearing what he has to say first."

"I'll go directly to my point, as I know you are a busy man. I've come to seek your support in blocking a Ministry bill that would lead us down a path of evil and self-destruction. Lucius Malfoy wants to rip Muggleborn witches and wizards from their parents at birth and warehouse them in shoddy orphanages."

Mr. Conner was listening to him with an impassive expression on his face. "The children will not be housed like livestock. My wife plans to get herself involved with the project, just to make sure they are well-cared for and have positive influence."

"But it's more than just that! He wants to alter the parents' memories and lie to the children, telling them their parents were witches and wizards. He wants to destroy families simply because he hates Muggles and can't stand the idea of them raising a magical child. Do you want our society to be party to such horrendous abuse?"

"Do you care so deeply for the children, Dumbledore?"

"I would not see them harmed, either physically or emotionally."

Mr. Conner now frowned at the old wizard. "Weren't you responsible for Harry Potter living with the bad sort of Muggles? He got plenty of abuse and neglect there, I've heard. Where were your protective instincts then?"

Dumbledore could not answer. He had failed Harry so absolutely by leaving him with his mother's sister's family that there was no making amends. He had been warned and had done it anyway. It had been for the greater good, but it was small comfort. Nor could he explain to this righteously angry citizen why he had done what he did.

"Even I am not perfect, Mister Conner. Though there are those who would inflate my legend to such stature, I have made more mistakes than I can count. They keep me up at night, sometimes, so persistently do I hear them nagging at the back of my mind. It is not possible to meddle with time to such a degree as to fix them, and so I have learned to live with them. From my bad judgments, I have gained experience. Experience is the root of good judgment, and I judge this bill to be reprehensible."

"As do I, Dumbledore," Mr. Conner said coolly, "but it is also necessary. And as it is necessary, it has my support. Good day."

Arthur Weasley's knees were shaking as he waited outside the Minister's office. All day long, various officials had been called up, and they had all returned to their desks, packed up their things, and been escorted from the building. Now the head of the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office awaited his own grim news.

"Come in, Arthur!"

Taking a deep breath, Arthur opened the door and stepped through with a smile fixed in place. "Minister Fudge, how are you today?"

"Fine, fine. Do sit down."

"Don't say it," Arthur said with a sigh of resignation. "I'm sacked, aren't I?"

"No!" Fudge denied in a surprised voice. "Not at all! Why would you say that? Your performance here at the Ministry has been admirable."

"I'm not sacked?" Arthur perked up just a bit. He hardly dared hope - a promotion?

"As I'm sure you know, there is a new budget. Many departments are being reorganized, and several offices are being eliminated. I'm sorry to inform you that there will no longer be a Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office."

"But the Ministry _needs_ my office!" Arthur protested. "Who will deal with the bewitched teapots? And the flying carpets? And-"

"The Accidental Magic Reversal Squad will take over the duties associated with your office. I've reviewed your case load over the past three years, and I'm afraid I just cannot justify it."

Arthur sighed. "So what's to become of me? Where am I being transfered to?"

Fudge gave him a sympathetic look. "You'll be working in the Centaur Liason Office starting on Monday."

"The Centaur Liason Office?" Arthur choked. "I _am_ being sacked!"

"No, Arthur, you're actually being transfered. Merkin has accepted retirement; he was very old indeed. You'll be taking his place."

His knees were twitching with suppressed humiliation and shame. "Minister, please don't do this to me. Give me a few weeks; let me quit. Leave me my dignity."

"I'm sorry, Arthur. Truly, I am. But someone needs to manage that office, and you're not suited to any other position here in the Ministry. Not that there are any openings in any case."

Arthur hung his head.

"There's more, I'm afraid," the Minister continued. "You're not going to have any actual work to do, so we expect you to spend your time reading and learning all there is to know about centaurs. In the event that we need to deal with them, you'll be the man we call on, but it happens very rarely. There's a substantial pay cut involved."

They were slashing his already pathetic salary? "Minister!"

Fudge held up a hand. "Protest all you like, Weasley, it will do no good. This shuffle is about trimming the fat, and that's what we have to do. At least you still have a job here at the Ministry. One other thing."

_Oh no, what could it possibly be?_ "Sir?"

"You will retain all of your benefits," Fudge said kindly. "I was able to preserve that for you, at least."

Relief washed over Arthur like a cool ocean wave. Of all that he'd been worried about, his benefits had concerned him most. They could get by with less pay if they had to, but his family was most important.

When Percy had dragged Draco Malfoy down to the dungeons to turn him over to Professor Snape for his insufferable mouthing off, he'd not been thinking clearly. The horrific insults the bastard had heaped on him still rang in his ears, and he'd pushed right on into Snape's office without consideration. Only when Snape's death glare had turned his insides to water did he realize his mistake - he'd interrupted Snape while he was brewing. Stammering an apology, he'd meant to run away as fast as he could when Draco spoke up.

"Professor, this prefect seems to think I've been a bad, bad boy."

"Weasley, explain yourself."

Speaking very rapidly, nearly tripping over his words, Percy gave his testimony and stood bathed in a cold sweat.

Snape gazed coldly at him for a few silent seconds. "I shall deal with the matter, Weasley. Dismissed."

When the prefect had left the room, Snape turned to Draco. "How much of that was true?" he asked.

"Almost all of it," Draco said impudently.

Snape sighed and rubbed at his temple. "By almost you mean all," he said. "What were you thinking?" He held up his hand as Draco started to reply. "No, that was rhetorical. It may amuse you, but should any teacher happen to become involved, you will not be doing the house proud. You don't have to fill your brother's shoes, you know."

"He was _yelling_ at first years," Draco defended. "I wasn't about to just walk on by."

"I recommend a healthy injection of diplomacy," Snape said wryly. "In any case, referring to the Gryffindor team Beaters as 'batshits' is not conducive to a healthy existence. Try to be a little more prudent when picking an argument. Your essay on moonglow is due one class earlier. Dismissed."

"Sodding, slimy Slytherins and meddlesome, malicious Malfoys!" Fred spat with venomous alliteration.

"We can't stand for this!" Ron declared.

"What should we do?" George asked. "We're not a part of the Ministry. We have no say over anything."

"I hate them!" Ron snarled. "Slytherins, Malfoys, and most of all Potter! Potter the great hero! Wizarding elite! Rich, powerful, snobby, stuck-up, evil bastards!"

"So why not get even?" Ginny suggested slyly.

"Get even? How?" Fred sounded puzzled. "We can't get Mister Malfoy sacked."

"Okay, so not even," Ginny clarified. "But we _can_ get a little revenge."

"How?" the three brothers demanded.

"Let's find Draco Malfoy and teach him a lesson about consequences."

Elan Octavio Malfoy was munching on a large pile of toast, as he usually did for breakfast. The cook at Durmstrang was not very good, so it was safest to stick with foods that were very difficult to mess up. There was endless variety with toast; one could top it with butter, jam, jelly, or even peanut butter.

The post arrived at that moment, and Elan was pleased to see that he had a letter from home. Eager for an update of things back in Britain, Elan broke the seal of the letter and unfolded it. Seconds later (he was a fast reader) he was swearing sulphurously.

"Sprache!" Professor von Mierker admonished him.

"Elan? Was ist falsch?"

"Pietro. My little brother has been attacked!"

"At school? By what?"

"Weasleys! Blood traitors!"

"At school? Absurd!"

"Father says they ambushed him. He's in the hospital wing." Elan burned with fury. He wanted to go to his brother's bedside, wanted to encourage him to heal up - wanted to exact some very personal revenge on the entire Weasley clan.

"Will he recover?"

"Madam Pomfrey is one of the best," Elan told his friend, trying to gather his wits. "I should be there! They never would have dared to lay a finger on him if I'd been there! Damn Dumbledore!"

Pietro picked up the letter. "Your Vater says here that it was a Weasley who saved him. Percy Weasley?"

Elan's face blanched as he fought off an urge to vomit. "My cousin," he said shortly. "Embarassing as it is. I've treated him like scum for years."

"Maybe he's not a traitor afterall," Pietro suggested. "He turned his own siblings in."

Elan nearly choked as he admitted, "He was there when I was not. By Merlin, I owe him."

"And here comes the outstanding Gryffindor team!" Lee Jordan crowed. "Bell, Frobisher, Johnson, Panning, Sharpp, Spinnet, and Wood! I'm sure Gryffindor's new Beaters are more than up to today's task! And, to thank for the loss of two of Gryffindor's heroes, sitting pretty with the Slytherins, I give you the traitorous Percy Weasley!"

Professor McGonagall immediately clapped one hand over his megaphone. "Jordan!" Her eyes were wide with fury, and her lips were pale.

"Sorry, professor," he said flippantly, as he always did when his opinions got the better of him.

"Sorry doesn't cut it this time," she hissed. "One more comment praising the actions of those two criminals, and I'll turn you over to Malfoy's father to answer."

Now it was Lee's turn to go pale.

Fred and George enjoyed their bad reputation. They hadn't done all the mischief they had been accused of, but it was good for the character to have a bit of notoriety. Of course, this status was less than useful when something terrible happened and they really were innocent and facing possible expulsion. McGonnagal had sworn to skin them personally if there was a hint that they were involved.

As they walked back to the dorms, shaking slightly, they realized how close the family had come to real tragedy. Their brother could have died tonight and they didn't realize till now how miserable that made them. The twins had been down to the hospital wing and seen their unconscious brother, lying there helplessly. He was black and blue, and his ankles had been broken. No one deserved to be treated that way, especially a Weasley.

Sadly, their roommate didn't see it that way.

"Great job on that traitor," Lee Jordan said, slapping them on the back. "How did you manage to convince McG you didn't do it?"

"Because we didn't!" Fred snapped angrily. "We were serving detention with Filch when it happened."

Thank Merlin for alibis.

"If not you, then who? I'd like to shake their hands. That traitor is sure to leave the school now," Jordan gloated. "Come on, you must have had some hand in it."

Percy had been attacked and people wanted him dead. This was going too far.

"Just get out," George hissed, pointing his wand at him. "And shut the door." They needed to talk.

"All right," Jordan said softly, moving out of the dorm with a concerned expression. "You should be proud of what you did!"

Fred hexed the door shut. "Proud would have been enchanting his glasses to make fart sounds. They went too far this time. What if they hadn't bothered with the rope?" Percy might have survived the fall, but a night injured in the Scottish cold would have finished him off. "They really wanted him dead."

"I never thought it would get this far," George snapped. "Mess with him a little, make him miserable so he'd apologize. We aren't responsible for this." He didn't sound very convinced.

"No, we just made sure the whole house declared open season on him. What he did was traitorous, but even he doesn't' deserve to die. He's a fussy swot, but he's still the one who cleaned the whole house that time we brought pixies into the house, since he didn't want to burden Mum." He wasn't a worthless brother.

"Yeah. He has his good points." George sighed and buried his head in his hands. "Wood may have gotten a little bit too enthusiastic." Their mother would be even more enthusiastic to skin them both alive when she found out what happened. She would never believe they were innocent. And he knew that they were partially responsible.

Fred laughed bitterly. "He takes his Quidditch very seriously, Wood." If they were better brothers, they would have told on Wood, gotten revenge for their brother. They wanted Percy punished, but they didn't want him dead. Still, they would keep silent because they knew they couldn't turn traitor as well. Their brother would have to understand. "It hasn't worked out for him like it did for us."

George nodded. "I haven't minded the extra time, to be fair. We've made reams of progress on The Operation. All we need is some capital." He tried to sound enthusiastic but he was miserable. Seeing haughty Percy lying on the bed, bandaged and helpless was a terrible feeling. Percy was like Mum, annoying but always there when trouble was around. "So things have worked out, even if the detention bit was no fun."

Fred shrugged. "Surely it wasn't, but we're in a much better position than we otherwise would be. We've got two years left with which to acquire further skills and make the needed connections. Percy didn't deserve this. Should we talk to him?"

"I doubt Pomfrey will let us near him and I doubt he wants to see us. He must think we're behind it." George bit his lip. "We went too far," he said softly. "I think we need to tell Wood and everyone else to back off. Next time, they might expel us first and ask questions later." Fred knew his brother well enough to know what he really meant.

Next time, Percy might actually not survive the encounter and that was something they couldn't bear. "No, we need to talk to him. when he comes back to the house, we'll make sure he knows we don't hate him."

Megan Jones was Hermione's best friend in the world. She didn't get on well with most girls, but the dormmates had discovered a shared love of reading. Granted, Hermione tended towards non-fiction while Meg had loved fantasy stories before coming to Hogwarts, but any bibliophile was a-okay in Hermione's book. They'd made fast friends with Justin Finch-Fletchley, the three Muggleborns understanding each other very well because of similar life experiences with growing up magical in a non-magical world. They jointly agreed that getting their Hogwarts letters had been the best thing to ever happen to them.

So it was with particular concern that they wondered who the Heir of Slytherin was and why he or she would want to frighten all the Squibs and Muggle-borns out of Hogwarts. Muggle-borns were thought to have dirty blood. Just because they didn't have magical parents didn't make them any less witches or wizards, but try convincing this incredibly backwards society of that!

"Who can it be, though?" Megan said in a quiet voice.

"Let's think," said Justin in mock puzzlement. "Who do we know who thinks Muggle-borns are scum?"

He looked at Megan. Megan looked back, unconvinced.

"Potter and his little gang are behind this, I just know it," Hermione declared.

"The trouble is proving it," Justin replied. "All the accusations and suspicion do us no good without evidence. Justin had been slated to go to Eton. His parents had hopes that he would one day inherit the family law firm. He was always analyzing situations with a legal bent of mind.

"I know the proof is out there. We just need to find it. I know we can do it." Hermione had the courage of her convictions. She had been raised to believe that she could do anything she set her mind to. If she decided to unmask Slytherin's Heir, then by God, she would do it!

"How?"

"The Slytherins all know," she said with certainty. "Bunch of snooty purebloods that they are, they know who the Heir is. They're all just playing dumb."

"Is it Potter or Malfoy, do you think?" he asked.

"It could be Malfoy," Hermione said. "The whole lot of his family have been in Slytherin; he's always boasting about it. They could easily be Slytherin's descendants. His father's definitely evil enough."

"They could've had the key to the Chamber of Secrets for centuries!" said Justin. "Handing it down, father to son."

"Well," said Megan cautiously, "I suppose it's possible."

"But how do we prove it?" said Justin darkly.

"We have to trick one of them in to admitting it," said Megan. "I don't find that idea implausible at all. Because there's nothing easier than tricking a Slytherin.

"Meg, you need to find your optimism. Where would we be today if the Allies hadn't driven on despite their doubts? We'd all be speaking German, that's what."

"Okay, Hermione, how do you propose we trick the Slytherins?"

"They'd never admit it to anyone who wasn't also a Slytherin. So we need to find a way in to the dungeons. We need to disguise ourselves as Slytherins. Then we just talk to Potter, Malfoy, or any of his little Death Eater friends and worm the truth out of them."

"Simplicity," Justin declared. "And how do we do that?"

"There might be a way," said Hermione slowly. "Of course, it would be difficult. And dangerous, very dangerous. We'd be breaking about fifty school rules, I expect. If we get caught, we'll probably be expelled."

"This is not starting out good," Megan observed.

"What we'd need to do is to get inside the Slytherin common room and ask Malfoy a few questions without him realizing it's us."

"But that's impossible," Megan said.

"No, it's not," said Hermione. "All we'd need would be some Polyjuice Potion."

"What's that?" said Justin and Megan together.

"Snape mentioned it in class a few weeks ago -"

"D'you think we've got nothing better to do in Potions than listen to Snape?" muttered Justin. "That man needs therapy. 'The softly shimmering cauldron'. He's sick, he is."

"It transforms you into somebody else. Think about it! We could change into three of the Slytherins. No one would know it was us. Malfoy would probably tell us anything. He's probably boasting about it in the Slytherin common room right now, if only we could hear him."

"This Polyjuice stuff sounds a bit dodgy to me," said Justin, frowning. "What if we were stuck looking like three of the Slytherins forever?"

"It wears off after a while," said Hermione, waving her hand impatiently. "But getting hold of the recipe will be very difficult. Snape said it was in a book called Moste Potente Potions, and it's bound to be in the Restricted Section of the library." There was only one way to get out a book from the Restricted Section: You needed a signed note of permission from a teacher.

"Hard to see why we'd want the book, really," said Justin, "if we weren't going to try and make one of the potions.

"I think," said Hermione, "that if we made it sound as though we were just interested in the theory, we might stand a chance."

"Oh, come on, no teacher's going to fall for that," said Justin. "They'd have to be really thick."

Hermione stirred the potion one final time. It was coming along splendidly. In two more days, it would be ready to take, and then she could discover the identity of the Heir of Slytherin. She knew in her heart that Potter was guilty, but she needed proof if she was going to unmask him. She would get that proof by taking Polyjuice Potion, transforming into a Slytherin, infiltrating the dungeon dormitory, and worming a confession right from Potter's own mouth.

There wasn't anything else she could do right then, so Hermione started putting her things back into her bag. She was just taking one last look at the bubbling cauldron when she heard the bathroom door open. She froze with guilt.

She was brewing a restricted potion; she had come to the book, _Moste Potente Potions_, through deception; she could very easily be expelled if she were caught here. Hermione closed her eyes and prayed to escape this pickle.

The sounds she heard, though, made her eyes snap right open again. There was a sibilant hissing noise, and she recognized it immediately: Parseltongue! It was the same thing she had heard Potter speaking at the Duelling Club!

She had him now! With only slightly shaking hands, she drew her wand. Now was the time! She could catch Potter in the act! She would take him by surprise and use the Full Body Bind. She would be a hero!

"Hold it right there, Potter!" she cried as she burst from the stall with brandished wand.

But it wasn't Potter at all! A first year girl with long red hair stood with her back to Hermione. She didn't even seem to have heard Hermione's outburst.

Hermione lowered her wand in confusion. She'd been certain that she had heard Parseltongue. She stepped towards the girl, intending to get some answers.

Yellow. Two great yellow eyes came from out of nowhere. Hermione's wand dropped as the power of the eyes entranced her. How long she stood there, she could not have said. A hypnotic spiral pulled her deeper and deeper.

Ten thousand knives were stabbing into her! All of her bones were fracturing into a thousand pieces! Pain without description flooded her every nerve ending! She writhed like an insect that flies too close to the light.

Then there was no feeling, no pain, no agony. She was floating, up and up, towards a great white light...

Lucius Malfoy didn't bother to knock on Dumbledore's office door. The loud crash that announced him startled the old wizard, to judge from the wide eyes that glanced up from behind the desk. Lucius was acting in an official capacity now, as a governor of the school. Dumbledore didn't know it yet, but Lucius held all the cards.

"Lucius, what is the meaning of this intrusion?"

He allowed a self-satisfied smirk to cross his face. After all the insults the insufferable old bastard had thrown at the Malfoy family, he was finally going to get what was coming to him.

"I wanted to give you the news myself, Dumbledore. And dreadful news it is. The school governors feel that it's time for you to step aside. I have here," he took out a long roll of parchment, "an Order of Suspension. You'll find all twelve signatures on it. I'm afraid we feel you're losing your touch. How many attacks have there been now? And a student dead? No, the time has come for you to go."

For a long minute, Dumbledore's blue eyes were hard, staring at him, trying to get a glimpse into his soul. Then a weariness came over him, and he rubbed at his eyes with one wrinkled hand.

"If the governors desire my removal, Lucius, I shall of course step aside."

Lucius felt joy rise in him like a wellspring. "I'm pleased you can see reason."

"However, you will find that I will have truly left this school only when none here are loyal to me."

"You have failed to stop these attacks. While we shall all miss your highly - individual - way of running things, I can only hope that your successor will manage to prevent any more killings."

Professor Snape's Potions lecture was interrupted when the door slammed open with a bang. All of the students turned their eyes to the back of the room where Jamie Zabini slumped against the door frame. Her hair was mussed, her face was red, and her breath heaved in her chest.

"Professor!" she gasped. "Maddy needs help! Lockhart says she's the Heir of Slytherin!"

Snape's eyes became very dangerous indeed. "Where is she?"

"Herbology."

"Take over here."

Snape strode purposefully from the classroom, his black robes flowing like the wings of some avenging bird of prey. There was a gleam in his eyes and a set to his jaw. He slipped his wand out of his sleeve.

_I have finally had enough of that simpering dandy and his foolishness. His antics end today. How dare he accuse without proof?_ Madeline Fitzjean was a sweet-natured, gentle girl. Her parents had been tangled up with You-Know-Who, but after they'd been sent to Azkaban, the girl had been raised by her little, old grandmother. She didn't have a nasty bone in her body.

In a matter of seconds, it seemed, Snape was striding across the lawns to the greenhouses. Ahead, he could see Lockhart holding Madeline by the arm. He quickened his pace.

"You'll darken this school no more with your evil ways!" Lockhart was saying. "You'll join your parents in Azkaban!"

"_Expelliarmus!_" Snape cast, causing Lockhart to lose his grip on Madeline's arm.

"Professor Snape! Good! I have very serious charges to bring against Ms-"

"_Silencio!_" Lockhart's lips continued moving, but no sound came out.

Snape cast three curses in a row, and Lockhart doubled over with pain and fell to the ground. Snape immobilized him and turned to his student.

"Miss Fitzjean, are you unhurt?"

Madeline had tears rolling down her cheeks. "Lockhart, he said- he said-" she hiccupped "he said I was the Heir of Slytherin! He started blabbing on about my mum and dad. They're dead! They died in Azk-"

Snape's mouth hardened. He beckoned to Lawrence Derrick, who had crept out of his Herbology lesson. "Take her back to the dorm and keep an eye on her. Make sure she gets some restful sleep."

"Yes, sir."

When they had gone, Snape leaned down to whisper in Lockhart's ear. "Now, my dear Gildy, I am going to teach you a new definition of pain and suffering. And we're going to go around behind the greenhouses where nobody can see or hear us."

Even though he was immobilized, there was still a great deal of fear in Lockhart's eyes.

"Minerva, we must talk." Professor Snape had left the Weasley clan in his office, and now he cast a Messenger Spell to summon the Deputy Headmistress.

"I agree, Severus. I am right here," she said as she rounded the corner.

In short, succinct sentences, Snape related the story that Harry had told him. Then he made a few marked changes. "When the basilisk lunged at him, Harry kept his cool. He cast a spell to bring down the ceiling of the Chamber on the beast's head, killing it instantly. As the blood covered the floor, he went to where Ginny Weasley lay on the floor. He took the diary that Riddle had made and pierced it with one of the basilisk's fangs. The magic of the diary was undone, and Riddle was no more. Ginny recovered instantly, Harry led her from the Chamber and sealed it, and the four of them showed up in my office as dirty as could be."

Professor McGonagall had listened to the whole fantastic tale with amazement. It was madness for three second year students to have broached the Chamber of Secrets, descended to the depths, and done battle with a basilisk. Yet they had survived, and rescued one of her own from Lord Voldemort himself.

"I'm stunned, Severus, simply stunned."

"They've done this school a service which can never be repaid. For years, headmasters have searched for the Chamber of Secrets. Now the beast within is dead, and the entrance sealed for all time."

"I will see that all three receive special awards. This is all most excellent news. I must inform the rest of the faculty. Rejoice, Severus! Hogwarts endures!"

After the three boys had showered off the grime of the Chamber of Secrets, Harry fell into an exhausted sleep. Tim could hardly blame him; he'd done all the fighting and the heroics. Tim and Draco had just cooled their heels directly outside during the most momentous event ever.

"So I've been thinking," he said to Draco. "Harry saved a witch's life tonight. She owes him a debt, wouldn't you say?"

"Of course."

"And what was it Harry said about Percy? That he'd offered to give his own life for Ginny's?"

"Yes, I believe so."

"That's interesting."

"I agree. Do you think he knows what sorts of claims that gives Harry?"

"He might. But the real question is does Harry know. Could he be aware that Percy's life is his for the asking?"

"I'm sure he's not. What do we do about it?"

"Well, Percy is most likely to be named Head Boy next year, right?"

"Since Elan isn't here, yes." Draco was still sore that Elan would not be Head Boy. Having his older brother in such a powerful position would give them nearly unlimited freedom in the school.

"The Head Boy will owe Harry his life. Use your imagination. Think of the possibilities."

Draco smiled beatifically. "How do we take advantage of it?"

"We have to get him to swear loyalty. It has to be soon; sooner the better. It must happen while he's still feeling very emotional about everything. No sixth year would let some second years manipulate him like this if he were thinking clearly."

"Magical law is on Harry's side," Draco pointed out.

"But Harry won't claim it," Tim said. "He needs us to make him see what he's got."

"And imagine what'll happen in the future. Percy's got enough ambition for three Slytherins. He wants to make something of himself."

"And if he owes Harry his loyalty," Tim speculated. "Draco, I like the way you think."

"You're fairly bright yourself."

"Shall we wake up Harry and run it by him?"

Draco's reply was pre-empted by a knock at the door. It turned out to be Percy himself.

"Hullo, Draco. Is Harry awake? I'd like to thank him for what he did tonight."

"He's asleep at the moment. Hold on, let me shake him up for you."

Ginny choked back a scream as she woke from yet another nightmare. Her sheets were soaked in cold sweat; her thin pyjamas were sticky against her clammy skin. Her eyes darted fearfully around the room, but there were no giant snakes, no evil wizard. There was only the watching eyes of her roommates.

"What's wrong with you?" Susan Robillard asked in a scathing voice. "Some of us would like to sleep, you know."

Ginny, her head still clouded with the night terrors, drew her knees into her chest and did her best to keep from sobbing.

"If you're going to cry like a baby, go do it someplace where they care."

"Leave the freak alone, Nan. Just go to bed."

"I can't, Nessa. I can't sleep when she's twitching and panting like something out of The Exorcist."

The Muggleborn Nancy Dix was referencing a movie about a girl who had been possessed by the Devil. Ginny knew from hearing Nancy chattering with Vanessa Dipippo. _If only they knew the truth._

But they didn't know, nor was Ginny going to share it. Her brothers and parents knew, of course, and Professors McGonagall and Snape. Those Slytherin boys knew too. Actually, entirely too many people knew what had happened to her because of Tom Riddle's diary. Ginny wished nobody knew.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I had a nightmare."

"You're always having nightmares," Brooke Gagnon scorned. "Get some therapy."

Ginny sniffled and pulled the covers up over her head. As she silently sobbed her fear and frustration into the pillow, a bleak sense of hopelessness came over her. She could never tell the girls what was truly wrong, nor could she continue like this. She needed help.

The next morning, Ginny left the dorm before any of her roommates. On slippered feet, she padded down the stairs and across the balcony to the fourth year boys' room. She lifted the latch quietly and pushed open the door. The only fourth years were the twins and their friend Lee. Ginny ignored the snoring black boy and went to shake George's shoulder.

"George, wake up. I need to talk to you."

"I'm not George, I'm Fred," the red-haired boy mumbled in his sleep.

"Bollocks," she declared. "George, get up."

After about five minutes of shaking and swearing, Ginny was finally able to get George to some semblence of consciousness. Together they managed to wake up Fred too. Only then did Ginny explain why she needed help.

"They don't want anything to do with me," she concluded about her roommates.

Fred yawned wide enough to drive a Muggle lorry through. "I'm sure you're exaggerating, Gin. Give 'em some time."

"Time for what?"

"You just got unpossessed last week. Your nightmares will fade soon enough, and you'll all be the best of friends before you know it."

"Susan told me if I wake her up again, she's going to tie me to the bed and gag me!"

"I'm sure she was just illustrating her point," George said unhelpfully. "Don't get yourself worked up over nothing."

"Over _nothing!_"

"And now," Fred announced. "I'm going back to sleep."


End file.
